Patience is a Virtue
by SilveryMoon34
Summary: When Draco's boss assigns him a partner, it's-surprise surprise-Harry Potter, the Chosen One. Then, just to annoy Draco further, a cunning killer escapes Azkaban-and Draco is his next target.
1. Bad Day

**A/N: This is slowly becoming my favorite fandom (Sorry Merlin!). So. Ummm…My memory of the books is not great (too lazy and busy to reread) so I may have taken some liberties (aka ran wild with imagination) with this. Apologies.**

**Patience is a Virtue**

Draco was not having a good day.

First, he'd been awakened at a dingy Auror safe house by a Muggle baby screaming in the house next door, a scant three hours after falling into the rickety bed at one in the morning…and since Draco was a naturally light sleeper, the squalling brat kept him tossing and turning for another two hours before he was finally able to fall back asleep. Only then he was awakened shortly after for work by a house-elf with what was probably the highest, squeakiest voice ever produced by natural vocal cords. So needless to say, Draco was not a happy camper when he stomped into his office that morning.

His fellow Aurors didn't help matters any. "Ooh, look what the cat dragged in! Rough night, Malfoy?"

"Stuff it, Danvers," Draco growled at the pockmarked brunette whom he had the dubious honor of calling his neighbor. Danvers beamed, happy to get a reaction out of the normally calm and cool Draco. Further irritated, Draco shoved into his tiny office. He collapsed in his chair, his head thumping forward on his desk.

"You look like hell," his well meaning office mate, Tyler Chambers, commented dryly.

"I need coffee before I hex somebody."

"Already on your desk." Draco could hear the smile in Chambers's voice. He closed his eyes. Sometimes he absolutely hated that overly perky man.

"You'll be my first target, Chambers," he called, sensing the other leaving the room.

"Sorta figured that," he called back cheekily. Draco grunted, reaching for his coffee…which he nearly spilled all over his nice clean robes as a certain someone suddenly Apparated into the room.

"Draco!" Pansy squealed.

"Dammit, Pansy!" Draco shouted back, dabbing at the small coffee spot on his shirt.

"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry at all. "Guess who just got transferred here?"

Draco glared. "Something tells me I couldn't care less."

Pansy pouted. "Fine. I won't tell you, then."

Draco sighed. Pansy was in one of her childish moods again. "Fine."

"Fine!" she shot back, seating herself at Chambers's desk, arms crossing petulantly over her chest. As Draco tried to work-filling out a report on the capture of a renegade Death Eater the night before-she stared at the crown of his platinum blond head, knowing that it would quickly drive him insane. Draco lasted for about five minutes before he slammed his quill down, his head shooting up to glare at her. "What, Pansy?"

She smirked at him. "Not what. Who. And I'm still not telling."

Draco sighed again. He could feel a hangover-grade headache coming on. "Just tell me, Pansy. You're obviously dying to."

But this must have been a day where Pansy felt more inclined to torture Draco than to mother him, because her smirk widened. "No. I think I'll just let it be a surprise." She Apparated quickly, before he could get his hands on something large and heavy to chuck at her.

Finally, some peace, Draco thought. But just as he lifted the now lukewarm coffee to his lips again, there was another loud pop-and this time Draco did spill his coffee, all over his nice new slacks.

He jumped up. "Son of a bitch!"

"My name is Tally, sir," the house-elf squeaked innocently, thinking she was the one being addressed. She placed a red folder on his desk-a new assignment with a hot lead. "Your assignment, sir."

As Tally disappeared with yet another pop, Draco sighed, evaporating the liquid from his pants with a quick spell and wave of his wand. He reached for the folder.

The target's name was Daedalus Adamson, a rogue wizard who-unsurprisingly-Transfigured a stool into a pair of seagull wings, which he used to fly out of the holding cell the Aurors supposedly guarding him had put him in until he could be escorted to Azkaban. The file didn't list Daedalus's previous charge, only his last confirmed location-a quiet little Wizarding neighborhood near Diagon Alley, in London. He could easily Floo there in five minutes.

Draco let out a small breath, allowing himself a small smile. A hunt was just what he needed right now.

…

As it turned out, a hunt was not what he needed right now.

Daedalus had been easy enough to find. He'd been sloppy with his freedom, walking out in the open in broad daylight. All Draco had to do was flash Daedalus's picture at a pretty blonde woman magically drying her washing in her front yard and she told him exactly where he was holed up-four houses down from hers.

And it all went to hell from there.

Apparently, despite Draco's cautious approach, Daedalus saw him coming, because Draco's foot had barely crossed into his yard when the man himself burst out of a second floor window of the squat little eyesore of a house, flying again on Transfigured wings.

Draco swore. "_Stupefy_!"

Daedalus dodged the spell, dipping smoothly out of the way. But instead of doing the smart thing and flying away while he had the chance, he looked down at Draco, a tobacco stained smile stretched across his greasy tanned face.

"Well if it isn't the little Malfoy heir," he sneered in a thick Mediterranean accent. "They spoke highly of you, back in that prison. The standards must be much lower in this country if their most highly praised cannot even cast straight."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back, as the saying goes. Growling low in his throat, Draco jabbed his wand at the ground. The wordless spell launched him high in the air like a pale-haired javelin. Draco had the satisfaction of hearing Daedalus utter a very birdlike squawk, but the other couldn't get out of the way in time. Draco slammed into him.

For a second, the Transfigured wings attempted to hold their combined weight; but then they crumbled, and Auror and prey fell.

At the last second, Draco let go, falling free of Daedalus. As he had before, in the rare times he'd fallen off his broom during Quidditch practice, he rolled when he hit to disperse most of the force of the fall. Charms he had specially woven into his robes handled the rest. Daedalus, on the other hand, landed hard on his back.

When Daedalus hit, his Transfigured wings shattered like glass, feathers instantly becoming pieces of the original dull gray stool once more. As Draco stood up, brushing the dust carefully from his robes, Daedalus pushed himself up. "Are you fucking crazy?" he howled shrilly. "I could have been killed!"

Draco shrugged. "Pity."

"You-" He reached for his wand, but Draco's Auror reflexes were quicker by far.

"_Expelliarmus_." Daedalus's wand spun away, well out of his reach. But just to make sure… "_Locomotor_ _mortis_." Daedalus's legs snapped together, bound by invisible steel bands.

Daedalus glared up at Draco as he approached. "Bastard pureblood son of a jackal bitch."

Draco smiled unpleasantly in return. "Oh really?"

…

Five minutes later, and several choice Greek words best not said in polite company were echoing around the Aurors' floor. Head Auror Lewis was called into the main lobby. What he saw nearly sent his already bulging brown eyes right out of his head.

"Auror Malfoy," he spluttered. "Put him down now!"

"Yes, sir," Draco drawled. Daedalus, who had been hanging upside down by his bound legs, was dropped unceremoniously on his head. Thankfully, the carpet was thick.

"Oops," Draco said with unconvincing innocence, smirking as his boss glared at him. Daedalus crawled over to Lewis, clutching at his ankles. "Please, sir! Send me back to that cell, or Azkaban, I don't care! Just get me away from this crazy bastard!"

Lewis sighed, rubbing at a vein visibly throbbing in his temple. "Shacklebolt, escort Adamson to your office and hold him there until arrangements can be made to send him to Azkaban."

"Yes, sir."

In Lewis's office-which, though slightly bigger than the one Draco shared with Chambers, was even more sparsely furnished-Draco lounged in a hard-backed chair in front of the desk, behind which Lewis stood, glaring at him.

He really shouldn't behave like 'Prince Malfoy', as Pansy liked to call his fits of cool, careless aloofness-even after nine years, his position here was still precarious-but he was in no mood to kiss his superior's ass right now, especially since he really did not like the man-a sentiment that was very much mutual.

"Malfoy," Lewis finally said flatly. "You're out of bloody control, and it's gotten to the point that it's more of a liability to the Ministry, yourself, and your fellow Aurors than an asset. So I've assigned you a partner."

Draco opened his mouth to make a snarky reply, but then Lewis's words sunk in. "A partner? You can't possibly be serious."

Lewis smiled grimly. "I am. Perhaps he'll have more luck sorting you out than I have." He gestured to someone behind Draco, turned around reluctantly to see who it was.

The office door opened, and in walked…Potter, the architect of the disaster Draco's life had become right after the War. Draco's head snapped back around to face Lewis, all cockiness completely gone. "Potter? You're bloody joking."

Lewis smiled, obviously enjoying Draco's discomfort. "Oh no, Malfoy. You know me. I never joke about Auror business. Now as I understand it, you two have a prior history?"

Potter's voice drifted wryly from behind. "You could say that."

"Then I suggest you take a long lunch off to reconnect with your new partner." He smiled unpleasantly as Draco stood up. "Have fun."

…

Well isn't this just icing on the shitcake that is my day, Draco thought to himself as he stomped into the Aurors' cafeteria, Potter in tow. Today's theme was a 1950s Muggle café (yuck, Draco thought sourly). He sat in his usual booth by the magical windows (fake, but they mirrored the conditions aboveground perfectly). Potter slid into the booth in front of him, looking faintly amused.

Draco couldn't help but study him as he pretended to peruse at the menu in front of him. It had been nine long years since he last saw his school rival. Nine years since the end of the War, since Potter, a skinny, pale figure in torn, dirty robes that no longer fit, stood before the Wizarding world and proclaimed the Dark Lord dead, gone and never coming back…

Those nine years had been good to Potter. He was no longer that skinny wraith in too big clothing. He'd filled out a lot-with smooth, healthy muscle, not fat. His skin was tanned, glowing with health, and he'd gotten rid of those damned taped up glasses. His clothes actually fit now too, very well…very, very well…his eyes traced across the shirt that seemed to have molded itself to Potter's chest beneath his robes. He looked good. Damn good. Mouthwater-

Draco's eyes snapped back to the menu, disgusted that he'd actually thought those things about Potter, of all people.

They ordered and ate in relative silence, an oddity in the noisy room. Potter finished first, and when Draco was finished, he said pleasantly, "So what have you been up to these past nine years?"

Draco sighed, rubbing his temple, where a sullen headache was beginning to throb. "Potter, what are you doing?"

"Reconnecting, like Lewis said."

Draco looked at him. "Let's get this straight. I don't like this little arrangement any more than you do. So let's just do each other a favor and stay out of each other's way?"

As Draco spoke, Potter's eyes wandered-to follow the backside of a trainee named Derrick Rory, as he passed right by their table. Unsurprising-Rory had a fine ass-but Potter leaned over slightly, deliberately looking past Draco to watch him continue across the cafeteria.

Annoyed, Draco snapped his fingers in front of Potter's face. As he flinched slightly and looked at Draco in surprise, Draco said dryly, "it's considered polite to pay attention when someone is talking to you."

Potter blinked at him lazily. "Right. You were saying, Malfoy?"

Draco sighed, standing up. "Just stay out of my way, partner, and we'll get along fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have paperwork to finish." And with that, Draco turned and marched off.

…

Harry had heard exactly what Malfoy had said-all of it. He was just irritating Malfoy for old times' sake, and in the hope that-yes, that was it, what he was hoping for: the million dollar view of Malfoy's spectacular backside. Harry smiled to himself, making no attempt to hide his watching.

Malfoy had definitely changed since school-and not just physically. It was obvious, even in their brief reunion, that Malfoy was no longer the mixed up, vulnerable boy he'd been at their last meeting, no longer torn between the Dark and the Light. This new Malfoy radiated confidence, power, with a fierce, controlled energy bubbling just beneath the surface-a combination that was having a strange, unexpected but not entirely unpleasant effect on Harry's nether regions. Hence why he was suddenly finding himself willfully checking out not only Malfoy's perfect ass but Malfoy in general-

"Staring like that at Malfoy is the quickest way to get you killed around here."

Harry jumped hard in surprise, turning around quickly to see who had spoken. "Ginny!" He hopped out of the booth to give her a big hug. "I didn't know you worked at the Ministry now…?"

She grinned at him. "I don't." She flashed her visitor's pass. "I'm just here visiting Ron and Hermione." She took Malfoy's vacated seat. "So, how was Romania?"

Harry flopped back down, his lips forming a slight pout. "Brilliant. Beautiful. I loved it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows in a very Hermione-ish way. "Then why did you transfer?"

"I didn't want to. It was a favor for an old friend."

"Kingsley?"

Harry nodded. "Though if I'd known the favor was babysitting Malfoy…"

Ginny took a sip of the pumpkin juice that suddenly appeared on the table. "You didn't seem to mind so much earlier," she commented slyly.

Harry sighed. "Staring is one thing; actually dealing with the git on a daily basis is another matter entirely…"

Ginny's face grew serious. "Harry, I know it probably didn't seem like it just now, but he's not the same person he was back in school. He's the best Auror they've got around here, and that includes Kingsley."

It was Harry's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Really? I fail to see how that makes him any better than he was at Hogwarts."

Ginny sighed, dropping payment for her drink on the table as she stood up. "Just watch how he works and you'll see. Oh and a bit of advice: it might be a good idea for you to go see Ron and Hermione as soon as possible. Nobody's told them you're here yet and Hermione's probably about to start sending in the cavalry."

Harry smiled-that was just like Hermione. "Will do. It was good to see you again, Gin. I've missed you."

She gave him another hug and a light kiss on the cheek. "Missed you too. See you at Ron and Hermione's later?"

"Of course." He watch Ginny and her new short pixie cut go with a fond smile. He missed his friends in Romania, of course, but it was good to be home all the same.

…

When Draco returned to his office, he was treated to the sight of Chambers clearing out his desk-Potter's desk now, Draco corrected himself sourly. That was probably the worst part of this new arrangement-besides dealing with Potter, of course. For though he would never, ever admit it out loud, Chambers was the only one around here that Draco could even remotely call friend-besides Pansy, of course.

Draco sat quietly at his desk, but couldn't bring himself to even touch the small pile of paperwork on it. Instead, he watched Chambers limp around his desk.

Five years ago-before they officially met and started sharing an office-Chambers had been a rising star among the Aurors. But then he and his partner, Gloria Morrison, ran afoul of a sect of Dark wizards one night. Morrison had been killed, and Chamber's left leg had been rendered completely useless. His career as a field Auror had been crushed before it had even begun…

"Potter's file is already on your desk," Chambers said, as if it were just a normal day. "Interesting read, even without the Dark Lord bits. You're getting competition for sure, Malfoy."

Draco looked at the file, but didn't pick it up. "You spoil me, Chambers."

Chambers laughed. "No, mate, I'm just a really bored paper pusher." Bored or not, Chambers was good at his job. Nobody knew the Auror Archives better.

It wasn't like Chambers was leaving the Aurors completely-just being moved to a different office. Draco could still go talk to him, or get his help whenever he had the time. But it wouldn't be the same, and both knew it.

"Well," Chambers said into the suddenly heavy silence. "See you around, Malfoy. Be a good boy and don't kill your partner."

Chambers's last comment made Draco smile reluctantly. "See you, Chambers. Can't make any promises."

The other laughed, shaking his head. Draco watched him leave, levitating his small box of belongings in front of him, the smile fading from his face. Grunting in disgust at himself for his sappy behavior, he picked up Potter's file.

Skipping over the usual stats-height, weight, etc.-he came to Potter's career file. Upon his request, after his training, Potter was transferred to an Auror unit specializing in the capture of fugitives in remote areas- in Romania. Capturing hardasses among hardasses. Competition indeed.

In Romania, Potter had participated in the capture of three very prominent Dark wizards-Craig Flanary, an illegal Animagus wanted in the murder of an Auror and his young family; Beatrice Hawke, a dedicated follower of the Dark Lord wanted for unlisted war crimes and for attempting to assassinate the Minister of Magic shortly after the War; and Jackal Ford, a prominent lieutenant in the Dark Lord's brief rule of oppression, also wanted for unlisted war crimes…Draco found himself nodding in approval as he read on. At least this meant he wouldn't be dragging around a lame duck pretty boy has-been…

He looked up at a sudden pop. He narrowed his eyes as Pansy appeared. "So," she said brightly, "did you like your surprise?"

"No," he replied flatly. "You should have told me that bastard Lewis was making Potter my partner!"

Her eyes widened in honest surprise. "I didn't know that part. I just knew that Potter had transferred in from Romania…" As Draco glared, she pouted.

"Honestly, Draco. I would have told you if I had known. Forgive me?"

Normally, Draco would have forgiven her at once-he was a reluctant sucker for a good pout, male or female-but it just wasn't happening today. All he wanted to do was to ward his office against Apparition, lock the door, put his head on his desk and go to sleep…Instead he put aside Potter's file and pulled the stack of paperwork he was supposed to be doing closer to him.

After a second, he sighed. "Pansy, what are you doing?"

"Draco, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, somewhere near his left ear. She was hugging him, both arms wrapped around his shoulders. It wasn't that he had a problem with touching-it was just weird, Pansy being this close to him when he had never, ever thought of her in that way…He squirmed. "All right, fine. I forgive you."

"Good!" She kissed his cheek-making him flinch slightly-and let go. "I have to go. Lots of paperwork to file. Dinner at seven?"

Draco sighed, suppressing a fond smile. "Obviously. Now get out of here. I don't need another visit from your boss."

Pansy disappeared, her laughter following the pop. Draco shook his head to himself. Thank God Pansy was too loyal and too fond of him to ever turn against him-she seemed to know his every weakness without him telling her, and how best to use them against him…

He turned back to his paperwork, but before he could put quill to parchment, there was another loud pop-Tally following right after Pansy, just as before. He didn't look up.

"Your new assignment, sir," she squeaked, putting another folder on his desk. As she disappeared, Draco looked up at the folder.

It was pitch black.

**A/N: Hooray for random suspense! Anyway...**

**P.S.: virtual lollipops for anyone who can guess where I borrowed Daedalus's name and method of escape from =).**


	2. Rejected

_**A/N: Second chapter! It's a long one. I'm proud of myself =). Hope you guys like it too =).**_

As Harry approached Hermione's office, he could hear her arguing with her husband.

"But he should have arrived by now," she whined. "The Floo connection with the Auror offices in Romania is notoriously faulty; he could have landed somewhere else entirely!"

"Like Calamazoo?" Harry put in.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, her worry entirely forgotten. He barely got a glimpse of her pale, round-cheeked face before it was buried in his chest. A laugh burbled out of him as he hugged her back. "Missed you too, 'Mione."

Ron grinned at him. Somehow, he'd managed to grow even taller and more freckled since he'd last seen him. "'Bout time you got here. Ever since we got your letter it was all 'Harry this, Harry that'-from everybody."

Harry sorted giving his best mate a one armed hug. "You too, Ron."

For a second, they held that pose, all three hugging each other, the 'Golden Trio', as the Daily Prophet had christened them, united once more. Then, slowly, they let go.

Hermione snuffled as they all sat down, she at her desk, Harry and Ron on chairs in front of it. "So," she leaned forward a bit, eying Harry critically. "Romania. Something tells me you didn't transfer back for us."

"Hermione!" Ron yelped, but Harry only snorted and smiled a little, looking over at him. "Your family's rubbed off on her, I think."

Ron gave him an agonized look in return. "You have _no _idea."

Hermione cleared her throat, and suddenly it was like they were first years again, sitting with Miss Know-it-all Granger. "The question, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "You're right." He'd thought about it, over the years. He'd left under complicated circumstances, after he broke up with Ginny, but he'd found peace at last in the rough, beautiful Romanian landscape, with the hardy, brave Aurors that lived and worked there…and he found, too, that it was impossible for him to give it up, even for his best mates and their wonderful children.

They both looked at him, the obvious question written on their faces. "I came back on a favor for Kingsley. I assumed it was temporary, but it turns out that it was to play babysitter to Malfoy."

Ron made a face. "Mangy git."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, much to Harry's surprise. "He's different now, Harry."

Harry made a face, too. "That's what Ginny said. But all I've seen is that he's a more confident and energetic bugger than he was before-"

"Hate to interrupt your little Golden powwow," drawled a voice. All three of them looked up. Draco stood there, leaning against the doorframe, a small bit of platinum hair hanging low near his eyes. Harry's breath caught. It had to be against the law for someone like Malfoy to look so damn beautiful, even in the harsh light of Hermione's office. He held up an ominous looking black folder. "But we have a new assignment, _partner_."

"Why is it black?' Ron piped up-the very question that had been on the tip of Harry's tongue.

"Because, _Weasley_," Draco began, though his eyes never left Harry's. "The target is an escapee from Azkaban."

"_What_?" Hermione gasped. "Nobody's managed that since Sirius, all those years ago…"

"Someone else has now, a killer git called Finnegan."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked at each other. "Finnegan…"

"No relation to Seamus Finnegan." They relaxed. "But he is a serial killer who had been imprisoned for several killings, so we need to move _now_, Potter."

"Right." Giving Ron and Hermione his best reassuring look, Harry followed Malfoy out.

**…...**

"Erm, where are we going? The Floo rooms are the other way."

Draco sighed. "To the office, Potter," he absolutely refused to use the word 'our.' "You might have had the luxury of charging off into the great blue wilderness back in Romania, but not here. Strategy is required before you blunder off like the Griffindork you are."

"Plenty of strategy was required back in Romania," Potter huffed, glaring at the back of Draco's head.

"Right." Draco pointed at Chambers's old desk as they entered. "That's yours." He dropped Potter's copy of the black folder on it. "Read up, Potter. Hunting season's tomorrow."

As he flopped into the his chair, Potter stared at him. "You sound like you expect me to be here all night."

Draco picked up his copy, though he already read it. "Honestly, I could care less what you do, Potter. Just make sure you read it. There'll be enough to do without filling you in every five minutes."

He snorted. Draco heard him thunk down in the other desk's chair and noisily pull the folder toward him. After that Draco tuned him out, flipping open the folder. Allen Finnegan stared up at him, deceptively calm and gentle-looking despite his matted brown hair, wild eyebrows and too bright black eyes.

Finnegan had been captured and imprisoned long before the War, when Draco had been just a child of eight. He wasn't a Dark wizard, just crazy-a benevolent teacher at a Muggle university, a hermit to the Wizarding world who had suddenly snapped, going on what could only be described as a planned hunting spree. Three purebloods and two Muggle-borns had been killed before he was caught. But the longer he looked at Finnegan's picture self's smug grin, and the more he read his psychological profile, the more he became convinced that Finnegan had let himself be caught. The man was undoubtedly clever-extremely clever-yet it had been a tiny, amateur mistake that led the capturing Aurors to get him…

As it usually went on this kind of case, Draco lost all track of time as he strategize-there were no solid leads on Finnegan's possible whereabouts, so he'd just have to make his own…

Right on cue, thirty minutes past seven, Pansy appeared. Draco felt her annoyed stare on the top of his bent head for the second time that day.

"What happened to dinner at seven?" She asked. Draco didn't have to look up to know she was pouting again-seriously this time. She absolutely hated being stood up, although she should have been used to it by now, as it was happening more and more frequently over the years. Draco still felt a stab of guilt when he answered, however.

"A psychotic murderer escaping Azkaban happened."

"Small wonder you're too damn skinny," Pansy muttered to herself. "You hardly eat when you're on a case."

She waved her wand. Draco barely suppressed a smile as, typically, a large plate of food-this time, a large toasted ham and turkey sandwich with all the toppings-appeared on his desk. He raised an eyebrow at Pansy as a similar plate appeared on Potter's desk, much to its occupant's surprise.

"What?" Pansy snapped, though there was no real heat behind it. "Potter deserves a reward for agreeing to share an office with you."

Draco shrugged, unconcerned. "Touché."

They could hear Potter's stomach gurgle from across the room. "Thanks, Pansy," he said tentatively. She beamed at him, then gave Draco an annoyed look. "_And _he has better manners."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Pansy."

As he reached for the sandwich-mostly to make it up to Pansy; he wasn't really hungry-he heard Potter swallow a huge bite loudly. Draco noticed his green eyes flickering between him and Pansy curiously.

"Question, Potter?" he asked dryly.

"Are you two…?" He pointed at his left hand's ring finger.

"Married?" Pansy filled in sweetly, nearly making Draco choke on his first bite.

"God no." Draco grunted.

"We're just friends," Pansy spoke over him, still in that sickly sweet tone. She reached out to stroke Draco's hair fondly. She sent Potter a sly look. "He's available, if that's what you're asking."

Draco nearly fell out of his chair. "Pansy!" he yelped, his face starting to burn.

Pansy smiled wickedly. Across the way, Potter was blushing furiously, too.

"N-no, that's not what I…I-I just meant that you two argue and talk to one another like Ron and Hermione…"

Pansy made a face, looking at Draco in disgust. "He just compared me to Granger. Ew."

"Serves you right." Draco retorted, back in control of himself once more.

Pansy opened her mouth to snipe back, but she was interrupted by a sudden, loud pop, and _Lewis_, not Tally, suddenly appeared in the office.

Draco stiffened. "Sir." The man was practically glowing-never a good sign…except this time, it actually was. He presented Draco with something that looked like a gray and black box with buttons-a Muggle tape recorder, if memory served. Draco made a face. "What is _that_? Sir."

Lewis smiled triumphantly. "A lead." He pressed a white button on the side of the box, then placed it carefully on Draco's desk.

A voice Draco instantly recognized started to talk. "I have some information that will help in the Finnegan case," It-he-said. "Have Auror Malfoy meet me in the Luna Moone tomorrow night. It must be Malfoy, or I won't breathe a word."

"Blaise Zabini," Draco and Pansy said together as the recording shut off.

"You know him? Good. You and Potter are going to meet him tomorrow night, and see what he knows. Oh, and dress nice, little darlings: it's masquerade night at the Luna Moone tomorrow." With that, Lewis disappeared.

In the ringing silence that followed, Potter said, "I don't even wanna know how he knows that."

"I second that," Draco added dryly. Pansy was looking at him with a calculating look he hadn't seen in a very long time. It made his skin crawl. "What?"

She smiled, and that made it worse. "Masquerade…Don't worry, Draco. I have the perfect costume in mind for you," she said in that too sweet tone, disappearing herself before Draco could object. That was grounds for worry, indeed.

**…...**

Harry knew of only one person who could fashion together a costume for him in time: Mrs. Weasley. He found himself reluctant to ask, though-he'd heard from Ron and Hermione that the Weasley matriarch and her husband were enjoying their peace and quiet, what with their nest empty at last and Mr. Weasley having finally retired from the Ministry. And besides, it just seemed…indecent, and rude to Harry to just drop in on them with no warning after almost ten years, just to ask for them to do something for him. But…this case was important, and he really needed a costume. For though Hermione was willing to help, Harry was fairly sure it took an eye for the craft of sewing in addition to the right spells, an eye poor Hermione just didn't have, no matter how hard she tried to learn it from her mother-in-law.

So Harry found himself trudging up to the Burrow early the next morning, a smile crossing his face at the sight of it. So many memories here, memories pushed back into the blurry recesses of his mind, hazy from all the time passed, but still there all the same…

He must have tripped some kind of ward, because when he crossed into the yard, a thoroughly grayed, thinner but still very sprightly Mrs. Weasley burst out of the house, hitting Harry full force as she threw her arms around him. "Harry!"

Harry hugged back. _Mum_. The word was on the tip of his tongue. Once upon a time, Mrs. Weasley had 'hinted' rather bluntly that he could call her that if he wanted. But despite how much he loved both her and Mr. Weasley, or how much he considered Ron and his brothers his own, it was just something he couldn't do, especially since he'd broken up with Ginny…

"So the wayward son returns home." He looked up and grinned at the sight of Mr. Weasley, dutifully following after his wife, albeit at a slower pace.

"Yeah." He hugged Mr. Weasley too, once Mrs. Weasley released him tearfully. He let go, and opened his mouth to apologize to the both of them, but Mrs. Weasley shushed him.

"No apologies, young man. You're always welcome here, no matter what hour. Now in you get. I won't take no for an answer."

Harry chuckled. "Yes, ma'am.'

A minute later, and he was seated in the Burrow's kitchen, a quietly smiling Mr. Weasley in front of him and Mrs. Weasley bustling about like she had the first morning he'd arrived here, newly liberated from the Dursleys seventeen years ago…

"So what brings you here, Harry? You looked like a man on a mission when you came up." Mr. Weasley said, a hint of concern in his voice after his wife finally sat down, having given Harry tea and placed a plate of biscuits on the table.

"Erm," Harry muttered, guilt at disturbing their much deserved peace stabbing into his heart again. "actually, I came to ask Mrs. Weasley a favor…"

"Anything, Harry," She replied firmly, as serious as if he were going to ask her to help fight the long vanquished Dark Lord all over again. Harry blushed a bit in embarrassment.

"Nothing so serious…I just need a costume for a new assignment…" He quickly explained the circumstances under his surrogate parents' amused gaze.

"I can do that, Harry." Mrs. Weasley said once he'd finished. "In fact, I have just the costume in mind for you…"

**…...**

Dusk found Harry standing in the beautiful white marble parlor of Draco's manor-not the ancestral Malfoy Manor, but Draco's own house, bought with his inheritance, Harry assumed. He was already in costume-one that looked suspiciously like a wingless green and white angel, though Mrs. Weasley had sworn it wasn't-and was waiting on Malfoy to finish dressing and come down.

"Good lord, Malfoy!" He shouted up the staircase. "You take as much time preparing as a girl!"

"Patience is a virtue, Potter." The sarcastic reply drifted back down to him…and in a mere few minutes later, Malfoy appeared. Harry swallowed tightly, suddenly glad he was wearing his mask.

He may have been the one wearing the angel-like outfit, but Draco was the one who looked unearthly. He was wearing all black, a striking contrast to his platinum hair and mask dangling from one slender wrist. The outfit was tight, like a silk catsuit, hugging Draco's lithe, muscular body in a way that had to be illegal, the way it left nothing but the most tempting places to the imagination…Harry was suddenly glad that his own costume was quite loose, too.

The costume had a high black collar, too, that accentuated Draco's delicate, pale neck, and as he drew closer, Harry could see a dark green leather choker there too, with a small silver snake hanging from it…

It was an effort to drag his eyes back up to Malfoy's face when he finally drew level. Thankfully, the other didn't seem to notice.

"Blame Pansy for the bloody complicated costume," he huffed, porcelain face riddled with irritation. Staring at his face was dangerous right now too, Harry quickly found. Watching those pale pink lips move was mesmerizing. Harry suddenly found himself wondering what they would looked like flushed with blood from hard, biting kisses…Harry snapped out of the sudden fantasy with a shake of his head, flushing himself beneath his mask.

"Don't think so?" Draco half sneered, misinterpreting the shake entirely. "I'll have you know, _Potter_, that I'm not half as vain as you think I am. If I were, I would have settled on a career much more _glamorous _than being an Auror." With that, he stepped around Harry, heading for the door.

"Let's go."

**…...**

The Luna Moone was a nightclub frequented by high society purebloods and their wannabe pets lucky enough to get a look inside. The place…_catered _to various tastes, most of which had nothing to do with what kind of music was playing. How very typical of Blaise to ask to meet _here_, of all places.

When he and Potter arrived, the place was already filled with people-or rather with goblins, devils, dragons and other creatures, both magical and mundane. Draco slipped his silver fox mask on as they approached. The half-giant bouncer let them in without a fuss-Draco's rare silver-blond hair being a dead giveaway to his pureblood heritage.

Though they slipped in quietly, Draco sensed heads turn to watch his progress as he hunted for a semi remote place to wait for Zabini in the half-darkened area around the brightly lit, crowded dance floor. Perhaps he was vainer than he had led Potter to believe earlier, because he was far from embarrassed by all the lewd staring at his all but naked self.

He'd just spotted a table that would suit their needs perfectly, when Potter suddenly grabbed his arm. "Dance with me."

"Potter, are you bloody mad?" When he turned to face him, those green eyes were glittering at him from behind his mask.

"We're in a _nightclub_, are we not? What's so mad about it?"

"We're here on Auror business, Potter, not to have _fun_-" But Potter was already dragging him out on the dance floor…

Once there, a sharp, tango like beat began to play. Potter's fingers curled into his, his other hand lightly holding Draco's waist, those bright emerald eyes daring Draco to refuse. Never one to turn down a challenge, especially one made by Potter, Draco stepped forward, immediately putting Potter on the defensive as their bodies began to respond to the music.

As the tempo grew, as the emotion of the music grew more intense, Draco threw Potter into an aggressive twirl. He let him, but his hand tightened on Draco's and when he came out of it, he used that hand to yank Draco closer, right up against him.

Draco was so close, his body flush against Potter's, his face less than an inch away. Draco could feel Harry's heart beating through his own chest, all quick and fluttery. Before he could remember why he shouldn't, Draco ran his free hand across Harry's stomach and side, teasingly skimming his arse, fingers sliding underneath the shirt to scrape against skin…

Harry-no, _Potter_, inhaled sharply at the touch. Common sense reasserted itself in Draco's head, bringing him back to cold reality with a jolt. Draco stepped back abruptly, away from Potter's warmth and those smoldering eyes.

"Playtime is over, Potter." He growled coldly. "You got you dance. Now go watch for Zabini near the entrance."

To his surprise, Potter obeyed without any argument, moving easily through the crowd. As Draco watched him go, a silky voice whispered in his ear, "That was hot."

Draco spun around. "Zabini," he growled. His old schoolmate and former lover grinned at him lazily, standing entirely too close to Draco for his comfort.

The chocolate-skinned man leaned even closer, close enough to kiss. "Yes?" Draco moved back-the time for Blaise to be this familiar with him had died a long time ago, along with any affection Draco had once had for him.

"You had information on a case of mine?" He asked frostily.

Zabini pretended to look hurt, poking his lip out in a way that Draco had once found irresistibly attractive, to his current shame. "So _cold_, Draco baby. Apparently not everything the Auror training did to you was favorable." His eyes roamed up and down Draco's body, naked lust in that dark gaze. Far from making him feel good about Pansy's choice in costume, the look made Draco want to curse and cover himself up. He resisted the urge, though, and stood square and firm.

"Tell me what you know, Zabini, and quit with the fucking games," Draco said flatly.

Zabini sighed. "Very well, Draco. I suppose an old flame doesn't deserve the same courtesy of a dance as a potential new flame does." He turned and walked off the dance floor, toward a few private rooms placed discreetly off to the side, just a few steps away from the bar.

A brief feeling of foreboding shivered down Draco's back. He looked up, finding and catching Potter's eye across the room. He nodded to him, jerking slightly with his chin. If Potter had paid attention at all in his Auror training, he would know it as a clear call for backup. Before Draco could see if he responded, however, Zabini was already ducking through the beaded curtain that led into the darkened hallway with the private rooms.

Draco's skin prickled the second he entered, nine years' worth of field sharpened Auror instincts kicking in. The second he heard the low rustle and the sound of a hushed voice in the room Zabini was leading him to, he sprang forward, silent as a cat, wrapping an arm around Zabini's neck, stilling any attempts at a struggle by tightening his grip on Zabini's head.

"How stupid do you think I am?" Draco hissed into his ear.

"Damn," Zabini breathed. "If I would have known that all it took to have you all over me again was to betray you, I would have done this a long time ago. It's a much more pleasant way to do it than by carving a lightning shaped scar in my forehead, anyway."

Draco squeezed, pulling his head into an awkward angle. "Shut up. How many are in that room? Tell me, and I might not snap your slimy ass neck."

"I don't know," Zabini replied pleasantly. "But I do know how many it takes to stop you from carrying out that threat."

"Oh really? How many?"

Zabini smiled wickedly. "Just one."

Draco felt the cold, smooth touch of a wand on his neck from behind. He swore.

**…...**

What the bloody hell had Harry been _thinking_, asking Malfoy to dance like that? Oh _right_, he hadn't been.

It was just…everyone in the club staring at Draco like that, like he was a fine piece of meat on display…It had triggered something dark and frighteningly possessive in Harry, and though he had no right to feel that way, he just _had _to show them all that Draco was _not _some fine piece of meat for them all to ogle at, that he was Harry's-

Harry's what, exactly? Boyfriend? Date? He was neither, and probably never would be. Draco was only associating with him thus far because Lewis was making him. Harry reached for his water-no alcohol while on duty. Everywhere Draco had touched him, especially on his back where it had been skin to skin, tingled madly as if to contradict him.

Harry shook his head hard in denial. That hadn't been real. Draco didn't want him. He'd just danced with Harry like that to fuck with his head-both of them. Bloody bastard…

As he was standing there near the entrance, sulking, he saw Draco suddenly whip around on the dance floor. Harry's skin prickled at the sight of a handsome brown-skinned man standing too close to his-no, Malfoy. Just Malfoy. He couldn't help the small curse (hissed in Parseltongue) that escaped his lips as the man leaned in close enough to kiss 'just Malfoy'-nor the surge of vindictive pleasure as Malfoy moved back, putting a proper amount of distance between them.

He was surprised, then, to see Malfoy follow Zabini toward the private rooms near the back a few minutes later. His heart plummeted to hover somewhere near his shoes. He supposed it was none of his business what Malfoy did to get Zabini to talk-

Wait. Malfoy looked up at him, and as gray locked with green the other nodded, gesturing with his chin. A call for backup? Harry's eyes widened. Oh. _Oh_. Draco was expecting trouble, not…_that_.

Before he even realized his brain had given the order, he was moving quickly back through the crowd, following after. He was almost to the beaded curtain, when a fairy with familiar bright red hair stopped him.

"Harry!"

"Ginny?" Harry said, dumbfounded.

She pushed her mask up. "Obviously."

"Sorry. I'd love to stay and chat about how awkward it is meeting you here, but I'm here on Auror business-"

"I know. I'm your help."

He gaped. "What? I thought you said you didn't work at the Ministry."

She grinned, drawing her wand from a sheath in one ivy green boot. "I don't. You're looking at Ginevra Weasley, P.I."

"Private investigator? Since _when_? No, never mind. Explain it to me after we get Malfoy out of whatever trouble he's bound up in."

**…...**

Little did Harry know, 'bound up' was exactly the right term for it.

The second man marched him into the room, right behind Zabini. There were five other men in the room-a ram, a hippogriff, a grindylow, a lizard, and a dragon. A toy chest sat on one side of the small room; chains hung across from it on the other side. Draco's mouth twisted. It did not take much imagination to figure out what this particular room was used for…

Zabini took great pleasure in chaining Draco's arms above his head with those chains. He rested his hands on Draco's chest when he was done, smirking at him. "Draco baby," he purred. "be a good boy and tell me where you're hiding your wand."

When Draco's only response was a glare, Zabini tutted. "Fine, then, I'll find it myself." He ran his hands slowly over Draco's chest and down his sides and stomach, groping more than searching, leering up at Draco the whole time.

A Malfoy would not take such a public indignity quietly-and Draco was far from an exception, as Zabini was about to find out.

As he started to bend over to 'check' Draco's thighs, his hands sliding over Draco's hips, Draco slammed his knee up, directly into Zabini's nose. As he fell over-unconscious or merely dazed, Draco couldn't tell-Draco managed to tuck his fingers into his sleeve and grip the handle of his wand in the sheath there. As he pulled it out, however, his heart sank. He realized that he was now the sole target of six other wands. He was an excellent duelist, but not even he could take out six other fully mobile opponents while he himself was strung up and vulnerable, for by the time he managed to twist his wand hand around and free himself magically, he would be stunned or dead six times over.

_If you're going to show up, Potter, now would be a good time,_ Draco thought dryly, gripping his wand tight, preparing for the battle to come-

"_Stupefy_!" shouted a voice. The man nearest to the door-the ram-crumpled. As Potter burst in right after his spell, Draco managed to stun the hippogriff in the back. He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye-of hair, not a spell-and the lizard went limp.

The grindylow, the dragon and the maskless man who helped capture Draco were quicker than the others-they actually managed to fight back (the dragon even managed to clip Draco, which he found highly ironic)-but in the end, one by one, they fell just like the others, unconscious. Potter looked around with sharp eyes, still under the effects of the fight-induced burst of adrenaline.

"Oi, Scarhead," Draco growled impatiently. "Little help?"

Potter looked at him, green eyes widening in surprise at his predicament. Draco sighed, feeling heat rise to color his cheeks. "Don't ask. For Merlin's sake, don't ask."

"Oh…kay?" Potter walked over.

Potter had to be close to the lock to do the unlocking charm, which meant he had to stand close to Draco. And he was, good Merlin he _was_, close enough for Draco to feel the heat radiating off of him, a tempting, ghostly promise of a touch, close enough for Draco to count the dark eyelashes framing those eyes…close enough to kiss those damnably adorable, soft lips…

"_Alohomora." _Harry whispered, his eyes locked on Draco's. Draco felt his bonds let go, and he automatically lowered his arms, slowly, completely captivated by the man in front of him. It would be easy, a simple matter of closing the now thumb-length gap between their faces. He wanted to, oh Merlin he _wanted _to, with a sudden intensity that frightened him more than any amount of hostile wands pointed at him ever could.

"What's this lot doing, here, I wonder?" The redhead-Ginny Weasley, by the sound of it-got Harry's attention just enough to give Draco the opportunity he needed. He broke eye contact, ducking his head slightly as he sidled out and away from Potter.

"To kill me, as it were," Draco said, pulling together the shattered pieces of his composure back together.

The redhead looked him up and down, looking unsurprised. Draco gathered his courage and glanced back at Harry, who was still facing the wall.

"Potter, when you're done counting the bricks in that wall, assist me in gathering up the prisoners."

**A/N: Wow, that was long…and a very bad place to end it. Sorry. Will get the next chapter written and up ASAP. So, good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know. There's always room for improvement, especially for me =).**

**P.S: yeah, I know Luna Moone is not a terribly creative name for a nightclub, but I put it in as a filler, and then it sorta stuck, and I couldn't think of anything else. Apologies.**


	3. Challenged

**A/N: Wow, this thing keeps getting longer and longer with each chapter…Anyway, enjoy! =)**

When Harry looked over at Draco, his jaw nearly dropped. He'd never been into all that kinky bind and dominate rubbish, but seeing Draco all strung up, in his current costume, was undeniably erotic. He managed to behave himself, however, and view having to stand so close in order to free him almost clinically…

…Until he looked down, of course.

He never noticed before, but he had about an inch or so on Malfoy, putting the other's face close yet still directly under Harry's…but that wasn't what made Harry freeze.

It was those eyes, looking up at him. Harry had never seen them without the hardness of steel in their gray depths—except that one time, in their office with Pansy. But this look was nothing like the fond, yet patronizing one he's had when looking at Pansy. It was open, vulnerable, yet so hot and needy and _wanting _that Harry's resistance and earlier doubt melted in an instant.

"_Alohomora_," Draco's arms came down slowly, and Harry trembled, imagining those arms wrapping around him tight as they—

"What's this lot doing here, I wonder?" Ginny said sarcastically behind him. He glanced back at her, just for a second, but when he looked back Draco was no longer there. The Malfoy bastard just _walked away_, as if he hadn't just practically _begged _Harry to shag him with those damn mesmerizing eyes of his, skirting around him as if Harry carried some sort of horrible disease.

An irrational anger bubbled up, taking hold of Harry. He tensed to turn around, to grab Malfoy and shove him back against the wall, to pin his arms back up and kiss him all over until he gave in, until got off his high aristocratic horse and admitted that something was beginning to happen between them.

Then Draco said something that made his blood run cold: "Potter, when you're done counting the bricks in that wall, assist me in gathering up the prisoners."

It wasn't the words; it was how they were said—coldly, callously dismissing what had just happened, dismissing _Harry_, as if both had no meaning whatsoever.

Harry felt cold as he turned around slowly. Perhaps it hadn't, to Draco, and perhaps it shouldn't have to Harry. It wasn't like they had been about to do anything, not really—they'd barely even touched…

Harry summoned their unconscious opponents' wands, trying and failing to ignore Ginny's piercing, knowing stare. He suddenly found himself feeling sorry for all the criminals she helped catch over the years.

As she and Harry set about immobilizing the lot, Malfoy disappeared, back down the hall. He was gone for a while—long enough for Harry to feel a slight twinge of worry, despite the cold burn of anger in his chest. Then they heard the music cut out in the main room, and a _Sonorus_-amplified voice ordered everyone out of the club.

Malfoy came back shortly after that, three other Aurors in tow and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Harry's fists tightened, and it was all he could do not to punch the git in the face.

"Your doing?" Harry remarked coldly, as Ginny and the three newcomers began ferrying the prisoners out. Malfoy's smirk faltered for a second, but returned quickly with a flash of steel. "Yes. But believe me, Potter, if the person responsible is who I think he is, he'll appreciate the gesture."

Harry blinked at him, completely baffled. "And what is _that _cryptic piece of dragon dung supposed to mean?"

Malfoy smiled a Cheshire cat smile, making it _impossibly _sexier than anyone had a right to. "You'll see, Potter. You'll see."

By the time all of the prisoners were safely sent off to await their trials, and all of the bureaucratic nonsense was taken care of, it was somewhere around three A.M., but Harry, for the life of him, couldn't have gone to sleep just then if he tried—Ginny neither, from the look of her.

When she didn't object to an early breakfast, Harry led her down the street to a small all-night café (run entirely by a small staff of house-elves). Neither ordered food, though—Ginny ordered pumpkin juice, Harry a large glass of water (talking to—and in some cases, arguing with—bureaucratic idiots made him thirsty beyond belief).

When he was done drinking, he narrowed his eyes playfully at his friend. "You were saying, about being a P.I.?"

She grinned. "Yeah. I'm not surprised Ron didn't mention it in his letters. I've been at it for eight years now and he's still trying to convince me to stop. He still thinks his little sister should stay at home and play with her dolls."

Harry snorted. He'd never known Ginny to ever play with dolls—except to practice spells on them. "So what happened? Why this instead of being an Auror?"

"I tried. Too many rules. Too many bureaucratic arseholes like Lewis to say 'yes sir, no sir' to," she wrinkled her nose. "Not to mention, _Ron_. Not ever Hermione could keep him in check all the time, and he was driving me _insane _with the overprotective brother routine. So I quit and started my own agency. Less stuffed-shirt fuss, more actually tracking down menaces to society."

Harry smiled, leaning over to squeeze her hand. "Ron might still have his head up his arse about it, but I'm proud of you, Gin. I'm just sorry I wasn't here to see his face when you told him."

Ginny laughed, but when Harry sat back, his hand sliding away from hers, her face turned serious and her hand flipped over, quickly catching his and squeezing gently.

Harry sighed heavily, knowing what was coming next. "Ginny…"

"Harry," she returned. "You've done it again, haven't you? Off and fallen for the wrong sort…"

Harry's lips twitched up slightly. "Are you calling yourself the wrong sort now, Gin?"

Her gaze softened. "No, Harry, because you never really fell in love with me." Harry flinched and looked away, knowing the remark wasn't meant to be hurtful but stinging from it anyway.

He thought he had, and had broken up with her before going after the horcruxes to keep Voldemort from harming her. But when he came back, after he defeated the madman, he finally understood one small truth about himself: he didn't love her as more than a friend, because his tastes ran different than other boys his age. At first opportunity he went off on his own way, to come to terms with himself—about everything, not just his sexuality. Out there, on his own, he found peace and answers at last—not in the arms of a Romanian man but in the embrace of Romania herself. That peace had followed him back home—until he looked into those damn silver-gray eyes, belonging to one thrice-damned Draco Malfoy…

When Harry didn't say anything, Ginny plowed on. "I don't mean to sound like Ron or Hermione, but Malfoy isn't the right sort, Harry—"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said he's changed."

"He has, Harry, but it's the type. He's a control freak with his emotions, a commitment-phobe who's married to his work. You deserve better than that, Harry, especially after all that you've been through."

Harry sighed, pulling his hand out of Ginny's to rub his suddenly heavy eyes. "Ginny, if I felt anything at all for that git, it would be pure lust. That's all."

"Harry, I know you, and you're not that shallow. There's no such thing as 'just lust' in your emotional vocabulary."

He dropped his hands, looking at her tiredly. "I know you're trying to help, but I'm a big boy now, Gin. Whatever it is that I feel for Malfoy, either lust or…something else, I can handle it on my own, okay?" He stood up, tossing some coins for a tip on the table. "I'm going to bed. See you in a few hours."

**…...**

When Draco arrived at his office, Ginny Weasley was already there, waiting for him. She was perched on the front of Potter's empty desk, watching him.

"Weasley," Draco greeted, unsurprised. "I knew you'd affix yourself to this case sooner or later—though I assume that this time it is less about returning a favor for my help than it is about making sure I keep my dirty hands off your precious Potter."

Ginny's lips twitched up into a wry smile. "Right, except he's not mine."

Draco nodded, accepting the lines she was drawing—not hers, but never his, either. How very Slytherin of her. "If your hair wasn't so red, I would say that you were put in the wrong House when we were children, Ginevra."

Ginny's smile lost some of its wryness. "For the record, you're not so bad yourself—for an aristocratic prat." Draco nodded again, accepting the compliment, though he could hardly be called 'aristocratic' anymore.

He had just settled into his seat, when Pansy appeared, sitting on the arm of his chair. "Draco," she purred to him. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Ginny. "Weaselette."

Ginny made a face back. "Pug face." That was being surprisingly civil, for those two. They must be getting used to one another, what with how many times Draco and Ginny have asked for help from one another over the years…

Draco turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He knew, despite Zabini and his thugs adamantly sticking to their story, that it had _not _been a case of a jilted lover's revenge that led Zabini to attack him. Someone had been pulling his strings—someone by the name of Allen Finnegan.

When he ran this theory by Pansy and Ginny, however, Pansy scoffed at it.

"Draco, he was a hermit before he went completely nutters. How the bloody hell could he possibly find out you were put on the case less than a day after you did?"

Draco rubbed his temples. That was the disturbing part. "He planned it, before he left Azkaban."

Pansy shook her head. "I think you've been at this too long-"

"Malfoy," Lewis interrupted, stepping in. He looked grave—deterring any snarky comments Draco might have made about him actually using the office door. "This was taken shortly after the Luna Moone incident." He held a photograph out to Draco, holding it as if it were a Weasley firecracker that was about to explode. Draco held his breath in anticipation as he reached for it…

Pansy gasped as he turned it over in his hands. Even his eyes widened at it. It was a picture of a remote field, still dark, but in the center of it, were two giant words, written in great swathes of fire: _Hello Malfoy_.

"This was found in the center of the 'a' when the fires were put out," Lewis added, his normally steady hand trembling as he placed another tape recorder on Draco's desk. It had an ash-smeared piece of parchment attached to it, with the words 'play me' written in elegant old style script on it.

As Draco reached over to do as it bid, Potter came in, thirty minutes late, looking tired and disheveled. He glanced at all of them, confused. "What's going on…?"

"The confirmation of a theory," Draco replied. "Get over here and listen." As he and Ginny shuffled over, Draco pressed 'play'.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," a smooth, slightly scratchy voice said. "Since you're listening to me now, I assumed you've passed your first hurdle. Good boy. I knew you would."

Potter's eyes widened. _First hurdle? _He mouthed at Draco, who shook his head, listening with rapt attention to Finnegan's voice.

"I realize it is in poor taste to use one's former lovers against him, but you must realize that it was dear Mr. Zabini who made all of this possible, my escape included. It was he who came to me one evening, desperately searching for a master to replace the one he lost the night the Dark Lord perished. When I dismissed him as the pathetic, mindless peon he was, he persisted, risking exposure to bring me news every week. That's how you became known to me, Mr. Malfoy, in one of the first articles he brought to me. Do you know what that article said about you? It said you had the makings to be one of the greatest Aurors of the decade. Not in so many words, of course, but it was there all the same. To be entirely honest, I didn't believe it—until I saw you."

"You had depth, an intelligence that my new associate greatly lacked. Fascinated, I studied you. For over a year I studied—I had nothing but time to make this game interesting, dear Malfoy. I've been waiting a long time for a worthy adversary. Don't disappoint me." Those last three were purred, making the hairs on the back of Draco's neck rise. The recording shut off with a gentle click.

Draco turned to Pansy, who was still gaping at the device as if it had grown legs and started doing cartwheels. "Still think I've been at this too long, Pans?"

"Wait," Potter put in. "You…_knew_…?"

"I had a hunch." Try as he might, he couldn't help the slight smirk that pulled at his lips—oh who was he kidding? He didn't even try. Knowing things before the peanut gallery was one of the few perks of this job.

"Don't get a swelled head, Malfoy," Lewis growled. "I want you and Potter—and you and Potter _alone_—" here he glared at Ginny and Pansy—"to go to Azkaban and find out all you can about what this bastard might be up to next. I want him found _yesterday, _gentlemen!"

**…...**

Pansy obeyed Lewis's order, mostly because she didn't fancy being anywhere near Azkaban,(honestly, Draco couldn't blame her.) but Ginny ignored Lewis outright, tagging right along after Draco and Potter, just as Draco knew she would.

"Ginny," Potter growled, correctly guessing, as Draco had, that she was tagging along as much to watch over Potter as to help them with the case.

She looked back at him, lifting her chin defiantly. "Harry."

"Now children," Draco drawled sarcastically, cutting off Harry's reply. "save your fighting for after we've caught Finnegan."

He got two huffy sighs in response—very much like a pair of spoiled teenagers—but the bickering stopped, much to his relief.

There were no means of direct transportation into Azkaban—for obvious reasons. Instead, there was a Portkey in the shape of a harmonica, kept in a Muggle safe near the Floo rooms, a safe layered with so many enchantments, wards and other defensive spells that it was impossible to get to it without the help of four authorized wizard personnel. This Portkey took them to the coast, where a boat waited to ferry them across the several-mile stretch over open water to the prison itself.

_Fun_, Draco thought sourly, climbing into the rickety little boat. Potter and Ginny clambered in after him, both looking exceedingly pale and greenish looking. Draco hoped to whatever favorable deity that happened to be listening that neither of them would get sick on the way over…

They didn't, and an hour or so later, they were stepping out onto Azkaban's short dock. There were no Dementors near this part of the prison, but their cold touch lingered about the place all the same. An uncontrollable shiver rippled down Draco's spine.

A pale, twitchy man, who introduced himself as Mr. Gilbert, came out to meet them.

"I assume you're the Aurors sent to inspect Finnegan's cell? Yes, I knew the Head Auror was sending someone…" the man muttered, answering himself in the same breath with which he asked his question, his dark gaze flickering everywhere, except directly at them. Even Draco felt a stab of pity for the obviously half mad fool.

"Right," he answered, and Gilbert nodded to himself. "Follow me, then."

Gilbert led them through a stone archway, but instead of going directly into the prison's innards, he led them down a flight of stone stairs.

"After Finnegan spent the first ten years of his sentence in the main prison, he was moved down here—a reward for good behavior." Gilbert gave a dry, scratchy laugh that made Draco shiver again.

"He was the only inmate down here—only one room, y'see," Gilbert went on, stopping suddenly before a wood and wrought iron door—which added greatly to the medieval torture chamber feel of the entire basement area. "It was watched constantly by the best wardens and the occasional Dementor. Can't begin to imagine how he got out, but you're welcome to look, all the same."

"Thank you," Potter said. As Draco moved to open the door, however, Ginny stopped Gilbert.

"There won't be any Dementors coming down here or near here, will there? My friend is…rather sensitive."

"_Ginny_," Potter groaned.

"Aren't we all, young lady, aren't we all," Gilbert replied, again with that creepy laugh. "No Dementors come down here anymore. No point with nothing to guard, yeah?"

"Good." Potter glared at her, but all she did was raise her chin defiantly again, not intimidated at all.

Draco snorted, pushing open the door. _Too bad it never worked out. They would have made an interesting couple_. He immediately regretted the thought as a sharp pain he refused to recognize or examine stabbed into his heart.

It was quickly forgotten, however, when he saw the inside of Finnegan's cell.

The room was tiny, with circular walls of stone. A fake, tiny slit of a window high up on the wall let in a small shaft of light. But that wasn't what made Draco freeze in shock.

His face from several different angles stared at him from the walls, accompanied by newspaper clippings from the start of his Auror career to present, yellowed with age but still readable. Every incident, every capture associated with him was here, in black and yellowed white.

"What the _fuck_?" he whispered, his skin crawling as he looked around. This man had been watching him, _tracking_ him, with Zabini's help, and he'd never known…

Potter came in behind him, eyes as wide as saucers as he looked at the newspaper clippings. Amazingly, instead of distracting him, the sight helped him focus. He detached himself from the scene as he had so many times before.

"He wasn't lying, that's for certain," he remarked calmly. "Patient, too, from the looks of it." He stepped forward, scanning the wall with the most clippings, looking for a pattern, a clue, anything to give him an insight into the target's mind, into what he might be planning to do next…

That's when he saw them, ward runes roughly carved into the wooden base running along the bottom of the wall. As he watched, they began to smolder…

"Out!" Draco growled. "Potter, out! Now!"

"Wha-?" Draco spun around, grabbing his arm and shoving him bodily toward the door with one arm, drawing his wand with the other. He wasn't moving fast enough—he wouldn't be able to get out with Potter—

Potter's hand closed around his wrist, yanking him out with him. Draco stumbled, slashing at the door behind him, slamming it shut in front of the magical inferno that surged after them. Unfortunately, his weight carried him forward with the stumble, making him knock into Potter, and they both went down. He rolled away quickly, swearing as he felt the sting of a burn on his wand arm.

"Draco, you okay?" He refused to look up at the sound of Potter's voice as he examined his arm. It wasn't a bad burn—the skin was a deep pink, and had the beginnings of a blister or two. Honestly, he'd had worse sunburns, but being a magical burn, it hurt like _hell_. Draco sighed. Healing spells were not his forte. He pointed wand at it with his other hand anyway, muttering the spell.

He growled in frustration when it didn't work, but before he could try again, a hand pushed his wand away. "Here, let me." Potter, who was suddenly crouched in front of him, took his wrist without waiting for an answer, flicking his wand. "_Salvio_."

Draco sighed quietly in relief as a soft, whipped creamlike salve instantly pooled over the burning skin. He tensed, blinking in surprise as Potter began carefully spreading the quickly hardening salve over the rest of his arm with his fingers, from wrist to elbow, creating a soothing cast over the burn. He stared until Harry looked up at him with a small smile. Draco could feel the warmth of a blush starting on his cheeks at that warm, kind look.

Good _god_, he was blushing like a damn girl at _Potter_, of all people! The protest was a faint howl in the back of his mind, drown out by the quick pulse of blood in his ears and the sudden urge to lean over and _taste _that warmth…Potter stilled, his emerald gaze intense as hi shifted forward slightly…

"What the hell happened? What was that noise…?" Ginny was coming back down the short hallway, Gilbert right behind her.

Har-_Potter_ sat back quickly on his haunches at the sound of her voice, (breaking his spell over Draco) half turning toward her. "A small explosion. We're okay…" his gaze sharpened a bit. "But where did _you _go?"

When Ginny quickly glanced between them, Draco realized that Potter's hand had come down when he was spreading the salve on Draco's arm, so now he was practically holding Draco's hand—and when he had turned to talk to Ginny, _he didn't let go_.

Draco quickly pulled his hand back. He touched the newly formed cast lightly, gathering his scattered wits for a second. "Thank you, Potter," he finally said curtly, rising.

The warmth in Potter's face guttered out as he stood up, too. "You're welcome, Malfoy," he replied, matching Draco's curt tone. He looked at Ginny again, but she was no longer paying any attention to them. She was gaping at the door to Finnegan's former cell. The thick wood was blackened, the metal bands and hinges melted and warped from the sudden burst of flame.

"I repeat: what happened?" She stared at them both, waiting for an answer.

"Ward runes," Draco explained. "The rare and aggressive kind. They were triggered automatically when we entered the room."

Potter took a disbelieving step toward the door. "It's no use, Potter. Everything in there has been incinerated."

"But what about…?"

"Don't worry, Harry. I got us covered." When they both looked at her in surprise, Ginny triumphantly held up a small stack of papers.

"After Finnegan was caught, his files were sent here to rot down here in the basement. I've got his old address, plus the names and addresses of his associates."

Potter beamed at her. "Ginny, you're a bloody _genius_."

She grinned. "I know."

By unanimous decision, when they moved back out into the fresh sea air of the dock, they decided to head for Finnegan's old address. Their next objective decided, they thanked Gilbert, and climbed back into the boat.

Finnegan's old home was all the way on the other side of the country, in a small, primarily Muggle area near a tiny university. The nearest Wizarding area they could Floo or use a Portkey to get to was forty miles from that area, in a tiny bed and breakfast that doubled as an Auror safe house.

When they reached the Ministry, it was by unanimous decision again that they checked out the Portkey for that area and continued on.

The bed and breakfast—which called itself the Mandrake Inn, probably as a joke—was a small, homely-looking two-story building, painted pumpkin orange with white trim. Draco wrinkled his nose at it. "Ugh."

But, unfortunately, when using Portkeys, the longer the distance between the leaving point and the arrival point, the more time warps. Relatively short distances seem almost instantaneous, but seeing as they had traveled from one side of the country to the other, the time warp was considerable: early afternoon was just after dusk at their destination…

A pretty, fortyish woman with her blonde hair pinned back in a messy bun hurried out to meet them, beaming. "Welcome! I'm Natalie Morris. You are…?"

"Aurors Malfoy and Potter, and P.I. Weasley," Draco rattled off politely, hiding his distaste. Really, he'd bunked in worse places with worse company over the years…

Natalie's smiled widened. "Of course! Follow me."

Apparently, there was some sort of local festival going on in the area, leaving only two rooms open—which meant Draco would be bunking with Potter. Draco sighed. If Finnegan and his psychotic game didn't kill him, Lady Luck just might.

Thankfully, the room had two beds. Draco claimed the shower in the tiny bathroom first; he expected Potter to snark about it, but instead, Potter maintained his stony silence, ignoring Draco.

Freshly showered, Draco climbed into bed in his undershirt and Slytherin green boxers, curling away from Potter, toward an inner wall, falling asleep instantly.

He was awakened sometime later by a sharp noise to his left. His eyes snapped open, his body immediately going tense. It took him a long minute to remember where he was. When the sharp noise came again, Draco recognized it as a human cry of pain, coming from Potter's bed. The cry had him out of bed and next to Potter's in an instant, wand in hand.

He was expecting to see Potter grappling with a new assailant, but no—Potter's opponent was purely imaginary as he thrashed on his bed, whimpering and crying out. Potter was having a nightmare.

Draco put his wand back on the nightstand. "Potter! Potter, relax, it's just a dream-!" Potter arched, arms stiffly at his sides as if tied down with restraints, letting out a piteous moan that yanked painfully at Draco's cold heart. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, lightly touching Potter's sweat drenched face.

"Shhh, Po-Harry. It's all right. It's just a dream. It can't hurt you…" he soothed, brushing Harry's damp bangs out of his eyes. Harry stilled beneath the gentle touch, his face relaxing.

Draco sank to his knees beside the bed, heart pounding hard against his ribcage. His head bowed forward as he tried to calm his racing heart. "Fuck, Harry," he whispered. He wasn't meant to see him like this. No one was, not him, not the great Savior…

Draco yelped as fingers with a grip of steel tangled in his hair, jerking his head up. He expected to see an angry Harry, livid about this accidental breach of the carefully constructed wall between them. Instead, something warm, wet, and absolutely delicious pressed hungrily against his mouth.

Good _god_, Harry was _kissing_ him! Draco automatically tried to pull away, but something—perhaps a strange heaviness in the way Harry moved when Draco pulled—made him realize, with a jolt, that Harry was still asleep. He probably didn't realize it was Draco that he was kissing.

It was wrong—so, _so_ wrong—Harry was probably dreaming about kissing his boyfriend back in Romania. But Draco sagged into the kiss, giving up the fight. This was what he'd wanted, after all—a taste of Harry. Mentally cursing himself and Harry in every language he knew, Draco took that taste like a man dying of thirst. He allowed himself this moment—this _one _moment—to admit to himself that he wanted Harry, in a way that went well beyond simple lust. Lust he could handle; lust would go away when it was fed or something more tempting came along. Harry was something else, something Draco couldn't handle, no matter how formidable he thought himself to be, although he wanted to, badly, so badly…

Draco broke the heated kiss when Harry's grip slackened on his hair, becoming more of a caress than a restraint. Harry's head flopped back on his pillow limply, his breathing deepening and evening out into the natural rhythm of sleep once more. But when Draco tried to sidle away, his hand tightened again on Draco's head, his thumb coming down to lightly brush Draco's neck. "Stay," he sighed. "Please."

"Fuck, Harry," he said again, this time in exasperation. But…oh what the hell. This was his only moment; he might as well enjoy it. There was enough space between Harry and the edge of the bed for Draco to lay, on top of the blankets. Harry sighed when the mattress dipped under Draco's weight, and, to Draco's surprise, he curled into him, his forehead resting against Draco's collarbone.

Draco sighed, resting his hand on the side of Harry's peaceful face, lightly stroking along his cheekbone with his thumb. This was going to be a long night.

**A/N: Awww! Hope you guys liked and squealed as much as I did while writing it. Chapter 4 will be up as soon as it's written and typed. Reviews make my day =).**


	4. Tempt Me Thrice

**A/N: Another longish one. Thanks everybody who have read and reviewed this story. Your lovely comments have kept me from giving up on this. Hope you like this next chapter just as much as the previous ones. Personally, it's my favorite so far =).**

Harry woke the next morning to a distinct sense of loss. Something should be here…next to him…and it wasn't. He stretched sleepily, reaching for it…

"Get up, Potter. The car is here." Malfoy's curt tone cut into his sleepy haze better than a bucket of arctic cold water to the face. He remembered instantly what he was missing-his last dream last night, after the nightmare…the dream in which he'd been snogging his haughty partner senseless.

He sat up fast, thankful that said partner had his back to him, because his face was on fire…but he realized quickly in dawning horror that his face wasn't the only place blood had rushed. Near his hips the blankets had tented-and it wasn't his usual mild morning wood, either. He groaned.

"Potter-" Good lord, Malfoy was turning around. Harry scrambled out of bed fast, getting to the bathroom in record time, slamming the door behind him.

"Potter!" Malfoy shouted at him, irritated, as Harry frantically turned the shower on-icy cold, as cold as it could possibly get. "We do _not _have the time for you to take a shower!"

"It-It won't take long!" Harry shouted back, praying that Malfoy couldn't hear how much his voice trembled. "Go on down without me. I'll catch you up!"

He heard Malfoy give his patented huffy sigh, but to his immense relief, he heard the outer door slam shortly after. He stripped quickly, grimacing and shuddering as he stepped into the icy spray of the shower.

Oh Merlin. He'd just…just…no, it wasn't the hard-on that was bothering him, not really. It was what he'd felt when he woke up. He'd _missed Malfoy_. He'd wanted Malfoy-_Malfoy!_-close to him, right next to him on the bed. He leaned against the yellow tiled wall of the shower, the water running down his steadily numbing neck and back.

What the bloody hell was the _matter_ with him? First, he'd asked Malfoy to dance while on duty in a fit of jealousy. Next, while putting salve on Malfoy's arm, he'd wanted to grab him, pull him close and snog him until they both forgot about the ugly burn. Now this. He rubbed his face. Only a few days and Malfoy was already making him doubt his sanity-and all he'd done really was _look _at Harry. Merlin forbid he actually _touch _him. Harry groaned again as the thought made him stir again below deck, despite the rush of freezing water…

He couldn't take this. He couldn't take Malfoy and his moods-one instance hot, the next as cold and distant as the surface of Pluto. He couldn't take not knowing whether there was something potentially serious between them or if his former school rival was just toying with him…The second they caught Finnegan, Harry would march into Lewis's office and demand he be transferred back to Romania. The thought helped ease the boiling cauldron of conflicting emotions in his chest, bringing it down to a bearable level.

Finally feeling better and hard-on free, Harry shut off the shower and got dressed.

**…...**

When Harry came out of the bed and breakfast, a plain-looking Ministry issue black sedan sat out in front at the curb. He smiled a little to see Malfoy sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, obviously uncomfortable, arms crossed over his chest. Ginny, to his surprise, sat in the driver's seat.

"You drive?" he asked when he was close enough.

She grinned at him mischievously. "I work with Muggles, too, and that made it a requirement," she told him. "Plus, me learning irritated Ron-always a good thing, as far as I'm concerned."

Harry snorted, climbing into the back seat. Ginny started the car-which immediately started dinging, the seatbelt light on the dashboard flashing. Malfoy stared at it suspiciously, dove-gray eyes narrowed.

"Is this damn contraption going to do that the entire way there?" Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing as Ginny sighed.

"If you put your seatbelt on, it'll stop." Malfoy gave her a blank look. "Pardon?"

"That, Malfoy." She pointed at the seatbelt hanging behind him. "Ah."

Seeing the almighty Auror Malfoy struggle with something as mundane as a seatbelt was too much for Harry. He burst out laughing. Malfoy glared at him in the rear view mirror. "Shut up, Potter."

He struggled until Ginny took pity on him and did it for him. The dinging instantly stopped, but Harry's sniggering didn't. Malfoy pouted, slouching further down in his seat and leaning toward his window, ignoring Harry as best he could.

Ginny rolled her eyes at them both. "Men," she muttered to herself, pulling the sedan away from the curb.

Twenty minutes later, they left the majority of civilization behind, smooth pavement becoming cracked, uneven, worn and neglected under the sedan's tires. Shortly after that-thirty minutes, give or take-they came into sight of the tiny town of Leigh's Meadow.

"Look sharp, you two. Finnegan's old house is just on the edge of town," Ginny said. The remnants of earlier's foolishness instantly evaporated. Both Harry and Malfoy were all Auror as they glanced at each other, Malfoy nodding slightly.

Leigh's Meadow was even smaller than Harry expected (especially for a university town); getting to its other edge took a little over ten minutes. Just on the edge of town, Ginny turned; the entire sedan vibrated as they passed from pavement to the gravel of a long, winding driveway.

At the top of the driveway, sat Finnegan's house. It had been pretty, once, but now, with its owner having been locked away in Azkaban for the last twenty-six years, the modest, pale blue two-story had fallen into hopeless disrepair.

It was innocent-looking enough, but Harry, with the ward runes in Finnegan's cell fresh in his mind, felt a strong prickle of unease.

"I don't know about this," he said apprehensively, staring at the house. "This place could be booby trapped, like Finnegan's cell."

Malfoy smirked at him. "Scared, Potter? Don't worry. I'm sure the Weaselette can protect you." But the smirk didn't reach his eyes, and with the way his gaze lingered on Harry's, Harry was suddenly certain that he meant something else entirely.

But Harry didn't call him on it. He pretended to bristle at the comment instead- just like the old days. "I don't need _Ginny_ to protect me. No offense, Gin."

Ginny just rolled her eyes at them again, getting out of the car. Flinching, expecting to see Ginny hexed to pieces on the spot, Harry quickly climbed out after her.

Thankfully, nothing and no one tried to kill them as they walked warily from the driveway to the veranda-nor even when Ginny used a quick _Alohomora _on the front door.

Malfoy stopped them from continuing on into the interior, however, with two quick taps on their shoulders, deliberately stepping in front of them, just inside the doorframe. He did a complicated little twist and flick with his wand, murmuring a quick spell. The tip of his wand emitted a sharp flash of pale blue light, then a flash of green.

"Nothing alive in here-nothing _human_, anyway," he reported calmly, stepping back to allow Harry and Ginny entrance.

"Handy," Harry remarked. Again, he looked at-glanced at, really-Harry with that strangely lingering look. It was as if something had changed between them, something Harry wasn't aware of-something that Harry was suddenly burning with curiosity to know just what it was…

"I'm curious as to what you hope to accomplish in an empty old house," Malfoy said to Ginny as they cautiously stepped inside.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do, Malfoy, that nine times out of ten a criminal on the run will turn to the familiar first. Being a hermit, that familiar for Finnegan would be his house. He may not be here now, but I guarantee you he was here at some point, and there is a good chance he left something behind."

Malfoy snorted. "All good assumptions, except for one thing: Finnegan isn't an average criminal. He may have been here, but he wouldn't have left anything behind that he didn't mean for us to find."

"You're entitled to your opinion, Malfoy. Just don't threaten to hex me when I'm right."

"Pfft. As if." The two split up; Ginny headed up the worn, dusty staircase, Malfoy, toward the living room. Harry should have gone the other way, down the hall toward the back of the house, curiosity got the better of him, and he ended up tagging along after Malfoy instead.

"Malfoy?"

He sighed. "Yes, Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth-but then shut it again with an audible click of teeth. Malfoy glanced back at him "Potter-"

"Shhh. Do you hear that?" There was a whirr of a tiny motor, then a click. Harry stared in horror over Draco's shoulder as a Merlin figurine on the mantle of the fireplace began to move, its head cocking weirdly as it pointed its tiny wand at Draco.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy," it said with Finnegan's voice-the voice of a scolding schoolteacher. "I am terribly disappointed in you for following such a predictable pattern. I thought allowing Mr. Potter to enter our little game would make it more interesting, but it seems all he has done is cloud your judgment. For the sake of our game, _you _must remedy this. _Imperio!_"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You must be j-" His whole body suddenly stiffened, gray eyes widening in shock. "P-Potter, _run_!" he choked out.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," the madman purred through the Merlin figurine. "I order you to kill one Harry James Potter _at once_."

"H-Harry…" Malfoy groaned. He turned slowly, his entire wand arm shaking as it lifted, its rightful owner resisting the order with all his might-but it wasn't enough. It was still happening, and there was nothing he could do about it…

Harry did the first thing he could think of, the first idea his frozen brain latched on to. He lifted his own wand. "_Imperio_!"

Draco's thin frame shuddered violently at the intrusion of a second will. "Malfoy," Harry growled. "Drop your wand!"

"_Don't _drop your wand," the Merlin doll purred. Draco's fingers, which had loosened hopefully on the handle of his wand, gripped it tight again. Harry swore. This was quickly going nowhere.

"Malfoy," Harry said firmly. "Stand still. I'll get you out." When Finnegan moved to counteract the order, he shoved hard mentally at the other will, attempting to force it to relinquish its hold over Draco. Finnegan shoved back gleefully.

They wrestled like that, causing Draco to jerk side to side violently. Then, suddenly, as quickly as it had come, Finnegan's hold disappeared, leaving only Harry. With no forces battling for control inside his head, Draco sank bonelessly to the carpet with a soul-deep groan that made Harry's heart freeze.

"Draco!" He ended the spell, rushing to his fallen partner's side. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to grip the other's trembling shoulders. Draco shoved him away with surprising force, nearly knocking him over.

"You fucking _idiot_!" he shouted. "That's exactly what he _wanted _you to do…to punish…me…" His voice faltered as he gripped his head in his hands with another groan. But when Harry reached out to him again, he sprang up, quick as a frightened deer, pushing past Harry and shoving out the screen door.

"Draco-" Harry rushed after, but by the time he reached the door, the sharp _pop_ of an Apparition told him he was too late. Draco was gone.

**…...**

His head was pounding, worse than the morning after a particularly wild office Christmas party. The Apparating didn't help, but he couldn't stand being around Harry for another second after the stunt he pulled.

Finnegan imposing his will on him through a _doll_ had been a terrible enough violation without stupid _Potter_ trying to counteract it by forcing his will on Draco, too. And then, the both of them fighting inside his mind, with him absolutely powerless to stop it…He shuddered, the feeling of soul-deep, unwashable, filthy violation bringing back memories, memories of cruel, pupiless scarlet eyes that he had spent nine years desperately trying to forget…

He slid down the door in his darkened office, drawing his knees up and pressing his face into them like a child.

In the quiet, comforting dark, Draco forced himself to focus through the pain. Finnegan had been right about one thing-Harry had been nothing but a distraction- a sexy, green-eyed distraction-from the minute he walked into Draco's office as his new partner. He blinded Draco, causing him to follow Ginny's predictable lead blindly, instead of his own instincts. He had to…reassess…yes, reassess the situation before stupid Potter and stupider Weasley came back.

With that in mind, Draco hauled himself to his feet-only to run directly into a warm, solid body. "Draco…"

He swore. "Dammit, Potter-"

Before he could think up the nastiest hex he knew to fling at Potter, the other's strong, warm arms came around him. "Draco, I'm sorry."

Draco stiffened. Oh no. _Hell _no. Mr. Perfect Potter was _not _going to flutter his pretty green eyes, give Draco a hug and be forgiven , just like that. Not after what he'd just helped put him through.

Draco gripped the front of Potter's shirt and spun, slamming him hard against the wall…and then he kissed him.

It wasn't a nice kiss. It was bruising and rough, all sharp bites and harsh pressure. It was punishment, for Potter ousting Chambers, for what he'd just done to Draco…Punishment for being irresistible, for being a poncy Robin Hood who just waltzed back into his life and stole his heart without his permission and without even trying, with a naughty dance when they were supposed to be working, with a lingering look and a midnight kiss…

Potter didn't try to stop him, nor did he resist when Draco shoved his tongue between his lips, plundering his sweet-tasting mouth. But when he reached out to Draco, he growled and pinned Potter's arms above their heads, against the wall.

But Potter apparently did not like being denied a touch. He growled back, nipping at Draco's exploring tongue and digging his nails into Draco's pale wrists. A sneer tugged at Draco's mouth. _Is that the best you can do, Potter?_

_No_. Harry rudely shoved a knee between Draco's legs, followed by a muscular thigh as he traced it up to rut against Draco's groin. He must have mistaken Draco's responding gasp for pain, because he paused. Draco took full advantage.

He dragged Harry over and shoved him down on the office chair behind his desk and straddled him, both gasping as their respective bulges chafed against one another. Harry's hands gripped Draco's hips hard enough to bruise as he started rocking, grinding his hips down into Harry's, causing delicious friction. Draco claimed Harry's mouth again, gripping his shoulders for balance. Harry broke the kiss to attack Draco's neck, licking and biting, teasingly caressing and sucking on the most sensitive spots when he found them, causing Draco to writhe and snarl, "_Fuck, _Harry!"

"My thoughts exactly," he rumbled in reply against Draco's throat. He unceremoniously dumped Draco on the floor-though he held Draco's head to keep it from smacking the carpet, a strangely tender gesture given the current situation. He kissed Draco's mouth, just once, before attacking Draco's collarbone, yanking open the buttons on Draco's shirt. He groaned long and low in his throat as Harry's gorgeous lips trailed down his chest, covering and torturing one nipple.

"_Merlin_," he hissed. A brief flutter of panic touched him, released in a growl as he locked his legs around Harry's waist, attempting to flip them.

"Draco. _Draco_." Harry was looking up at him, his hands loosely gripping his forearms. "Relax. I'm not done apologizing yet."

Draco felt the panic ease, and he laughed breathlessly. "Hell of an apology."

He smiled wickedly. "Not yet."

Draco's stomach fluttered at that not so heavenly tone in the Savior's voice, his erection pulsing eagerly.

Harry yanked Draco's shirt out of his slacks. Draco bit his shoulder, using a bit of wandless magic to pop the buttons on Harry's shirt and drag it off his shoulders as he wriggled his hips, making Harry's breath catch.

Harry's fingers scraped his skin, undoubtedly leaving red furrows as he clawed for the waistband of Draco's slacks. Draco bit Harry's earlobe, whispering huskily, "Too long."

With a bit more magic, their slacks disappeared. They both moaned as their finally naked erections rubbed, a delicious skin on skin friction that was too much for Draco. He pushed Harry off of him. He couldn't see Harry's face in the dark, but he could imagine those beautiful emerald eyes wide with shock, ruby lips slightly parted. He groaned at the image as he rolled on top, kissing Harry furiously.

His hand slid down Harry's side, tracing teasingly over a bony hip bone before fisting on Harry's heat. Harry made a strange choking noise against Draco's mouth, hips bucking wildly.

"Fuck, Harry," he hummed-a phrase he seemed to be uttering a lot lately. Harry's hips stuttered, slowing as his hands ran down Draco's back, cupping his arse, stroking low. "_Draco_," he murmured urgently into Draco's ear.

Draco nodded, pushing Harry's hands lower with his free hand, until…_yes_. Fingers already magically wet with lube started preparing him. Draco whimpered softly, pressing back against the fingers, his hand lightly massaging Harry while his other hand tangled in Harry's hair, stroking…

"_Merlin_, Draco," Harry gasped a moment later. "Ready?"

"God yes," Draco growled back. The fingers moved, and Draco sat up, stroking Harry and holding him steady as he slowly sank down, a low guttural moan escaping as he reveled in the feeling…

Harry gripped his hips, thrusting upwards into him as he rolled his hips, searching for just the right angle-

He cried out when they found it, when Harry hit that point deep inside him that set every nerve ending on fire. Harry's grip tightened, holding him in place at that angle as he kept thrusting. He was hitting that point dead on every time, even as his thrusts sped up, becoming jerky and wild, the wet slap of flesh on flesh filling the tiny room.

Draco could feel Harry's orgasm building in the growing tenseness of his body. It was nearly enough to come himself. "H-Harry," he half mewled, half moaned. Harry understood, his hand wrapping around him. Draco's hand wrapped over his, and together they pumped him in perfect time with Harry's wild, brutal thrusts.

It wasn't long at all before they fell over the edge together, Harry coming deep inside Draco, Draco all over them both.

When it was over, Draco collapsed forward, not caring at all about the mess between their naked chests. He made a groggy, half hearted noise of protest when Harry slipped out of him. He made a stronger noise of protest as Harry shifted underneath him, wiggling out a bit so Draco was lying on the carpet, pressed against Harry's side, with Harry's arm curled around him.

"Just getting comfortable," he chuckled as Draco pressed his face into the crook of his neck, smelling a glorious mixture of sex, sweat, and just _Harry_ on the taut skin there.

Harry nuzzled Draco, pressing a gentle kiss on his temple, his free hand coming up to stroke along Draco's cheekbone. The movement reminded Draco of the night before, when he'd held a sleeping Harry in a similar position after that first kiss…

He nuzzled Harry's neck. "Much better than last night," he mumbled sleepily. Then he froze, realizing with horror that he's just said that out loud.

Harry did, too. Draco could feel the skin beneath his face heat up in a blush. "You mean that…_actually happened_?"

"The kiss? Yes." He felt his skin heat up, too. "Though I suppose that will mean very little to your Romanian boyfriend after what we just did-"

He spluttered, "Romanian boyfriend? I don't _have _a boyfriend, Romanian or otherwise. I m-mean not that I haven't _tried_-"

He was blathering on like an idiot. Draco stared up at where he knew Harry's face was, and he shut him up with a question.

"Then who the bloody hell were you dreaming about last night…?"

"You," he replied simply, with no hesitation. "I was dreaming about _you, _Draco."

The admission made something warm and nauseatingly Hufflepuffish bloom in Draco's gut-and made a small, panicky voice urgently remind him about Finnegan. He started to move away, quickly, realizing that Harry was clouding his focus again, albeit in a markedly better fashion.

"What are you doing?"

"I have a killer to catch-"

Harry grabbed his hand and tugged him back down. "_We_ have a killer to catch, and it can wait."

Draco's chin rested on Harry's chest, as he glared up at what little he could see of the other's face. "Harry, he's a cold-blooded murderer. He doesn't _wait_-"

Harry shut him up with a kiss, slow and lingering, his tongue languidly stroking Draco's inside his mouth. Draco moaned softly in spite of himself, opening his mouth wider to give him better access.

Harry broke the kiss too soon, nuzzling his cheek, whispering against his skin, "Stay. _Please_."

In the dark, Draco narrowed his eyes. Those same damn words…Harry might as well have kept him under the Imperius Curse, because those words, coupled with the _amazing _thing Harry was doing to the shell of his ear with his tongue, made it impossible to say no…

**…...**

"Harry, you're distracting me." Harry did his best to stifle his goofy 'just got shagged' grin-which was as distracting to Draco as a thousand-watt _Lumos _to his face.

"Sorry." He had a right to grin, though-they'd just spent hours in their darkened office, by turns cuddling and shagging on every available surface. Draco himself had trouble keeping a straight face as his eyes drifted around the now lighted room…

He shook his head at himself, refocusing on the file in front of him. A very irritated Ginny had arrived a few moments before. It had _not _been a good idea to tell her that he was scrapping everything they'd found in Azkaban and starting completely over from scratch. She would have happily hexed him into oblivion had Harry not been standing there, right beside him, their shoulders brushing…

Draco shook that distracting thought away. He and Harry were going over Finnegan's file again, and as he did so, he had the suspicion that he was missing something glaringly obvious, something he should have picked up on when he read it the first time…

When he finally figured it out, he shouted-not any words, just a loud, uncharacteristic whoop of victory, making Harry jump and look up in alarm.

"What?"

"It's so _stupid_! So _obvious_!"

"Okay," Harry looked at him quizzically. "What is?"

"He's a damn narcissist!"

"What does that have to do anything…?"

"It has _everything _to do with it," he growled, jumping up to pace. "I thought his obsession with me was just because he was bored, desperate for something to keep him sane in Azkaban, but it is not. That first article, as he saw it, was a challenge to his reputation, to his intelligence-" here he stabbed his finger down on the open file on his desk. "He took pride in what he did. He did not just snap; it was a rational decision, a change in his career. It was _personal_." He grabbed up the paper left over from several days ago. The headlines screamed about the prison break, as they had for the days since, showing it to Harry.

"He's _loving this_, Harry, eating it up-" He stopped midsentence. A slow, wicked smile very worthy of the Malfoy bloodline spread across his face. "I know how we'll catch him, Harry," he breathed.

Harry, who was paying full attention now, stared at him, half rising out of his seat. "How?"

"He's not a textbook narcissist. He's a fucking egomaniac of the highest degree, and he's getting the biggest ego boost possible right now: the Wizarding world's _fear_. Wizards and witches all over the world are talking about _him_, as he dangles their precious Golden Boy and the Auror criminals fear most on his personal string. Take that ego boost away from him, Harry, and he'll come scrambling to get it back."

"Great. But what could take the attention of thousands of people away from a sadistic serial killer?"

Draco moved slowly around his desk, stopping in front of Harry's. He leaned over the desk to touch the velvet skin of the brunet's cheek, that sexy wicked smile still on his face. "You will, Harry."

Green eyes widened almost comically in response. "Me? Honestly?"

"Yes." Draco's voice rose from its whisper. "A Harry Potter tell all. Your life's story, Harry, something you and your little posse have been so tight lipped about for so long, hyped up and 'leaked' all over the place, to be told on a public stage-" He stopped as he saw Harry's face fall, growing pale as he sank back down into his chair. He stared down at his tanned hands, clenching them tightly in his lap.

"I don't know, Draco…" he said in a low voice. Draco walked around the desk, running ivory fingers comfortingly through his dark hair. "You will not have to say anything, Harry. Just ad lib, until Finnegan shows himself. It won't take long."

Harry's eyes fell shut as he leaned against the touch. "You're _absolutely _sure, Draco?"

"One hundred percent."

Harry turned his head, lightly kissing Draco's palm. "…Okay."

**…...**

"You want me to do _what_, Malfoy?"

"Publicize the news that Harry Potter will be hosting a tell all at the Arthur Flinnewin Amphitheater," Draco repeated slowly, as if speaking to a really thick child.

"I heard what you said, Malfoy," Hermione growled. "What surprises me is your gall to say it. Those days weren't a walk in the park for anyone, least of all for Harry, and you want him to spill it all for the world to hear?"

"Regardless of what you think, Granger-"

"It's Weasley now."

"Whatever. This is not some sick, twisted plot for my amusement. It's for the case-and I've made it clear to Harry that he doesn't have to say anything he doesn't wish to. All he has to do is stand up on the stage and pretend until Finnegan comes."

"And if he doesn't?"

Draco smiled wickedly. "Have you ever yelled 'Narcavulus' in a crowded amphitheater?"

She glared at him. "I'm not going to allow you to cause a dangerous panic, Malfoy-"

"Less of a panic, more like fits of laughter-a Narcavulus is a foolish monster in a Wizarding children's tale. More to the point, if I am wrong-and I'm rarely wrong-then you have it on the Malfoy bloodline that Harry will leave that amphitheater with pride and privacy intact."

Granger-turned-Weasley weighed her options, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "All right, Malfoy," she said finally. "I'll do it. But you'd better keep your word. I'll have no problem hexing you into next year, and neither will Ron."

**A/N: Wooh! Now we're getting somewhere =). Hope you enjoyed as much as I did!**


	5. Spectacle

**A/N: Really short one this time. Sorry. Couldn't help it. It was just too cute, I couldn't wait! Enjoy =)**

Whatever else could be said about Granger, she was good at her job. The very next day showed results. Instead of screaming about Finnegan, everywhere Draco looked, headlines screamed the 'leaked' news of a 'Potter Tell All'. Finnegan was still there, though-just reduced to two paragraphs and a bold title at the bottom of the page.

Draco smiled. Now _that _was a challenge no narcissist worth his guff could possibly ignore.

**…...**

As the days wore on, Granger proved herself even more. She expertly kept the hype up by arranging teasing little interviews for all the major papers, involving first distant friends of Harry's-Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, etc.-then, as the date of the 'Tell All' grew closer, with herself and Ron, Harry's 'bosom friends'.

While all this was good for the sake of Draco's plan, it wasn't so good for Harry. The prat could hardly go out in public without being recognized and subsequently mobbed by screaming fans, men and women alike. When Draco came upon two young, very attractive men getting a little _too _cozy with Harry as they posed for a picture, Draco finally lost what little shred of patience he had.

He stomped over to the growing crowd, flashing his Auror credentials. "Break it up. _Now_." The thankfully still-small crowd broke up reluctantly, shooting him sullen looks. Draco glared at the two men still with Harry. One of them instantly got the message, and buggered off quickly without another glance. The other one, however leaned over and kissed Harry's cheek before strutting off, tossing his head to glance slyly at Draco, who instantly saw red.

Harry was smiling. That smile instantly withered at the look on Draco's face as he stomped over to him. His eyes widened as Draco grabbed his arm. "Draco…?" He Apparated, dragging Harry with him.

From then on Draco hid Harry from the mobs jealously (though he refused repeatedly to admit to either himself or Harry that that's what it was.) in his own flat. He had a feeling that Harry would have objected strongly to such treatment if it hadn't involved more delicious sex than a honeymoon suite in Paris.

On the day before the evening of the 'Tell All', Draco woke to slow, lingering kisses being trailed down the side of his neck and shoulder, to a warm body pressed up against his back and an arm wrapped securely around his waist.

He yawned. "Morning, Harry."

The kisses stopped as Harry brought his head back up to nuzzle Draco's neck, lazily nipping at his ear. "Morning, Draco."

Draco honestly couldn't point out the exact point where waking up in bed like this, with his current Auror partner and former archrival, had become his new normal, nor the point where he'd stopped avoiding the obvious attraction and thinking of reasons why it shouldn't be…He sighed. How very…not Slytherin of him.

He started to move, to get out of bed and begin the hunt for his clothes, but Harry's arm tightened around him, his body curling closer. "No," he mumbled like a petulant child.

"Harry," Draco growled in exasperation. "Get off. It's today."

Harry froze. "Ah."

"Yeah," Draco said flatly. He started to move out again, but Harry dragged him back for a nervous kiss.

Draco sighed again and kissed back, stroking Harry's soft hair, a move that seemed to calm him down. He kept at it when the kiss broke. "Harry," he said soothingly. "Relax. All will go according to plan."

The brunet rested his forehead against Draco's his emerald gaze softening. "I know. I trust you."

"Good." He cupped Harry's face, bringing it down to kiss his forehead-a tender gesture that surprised him as much as Harry-and got out of bed at last.

Harry lounged on the bed while Draco dressed, openly eying his nakedness sleepily. "What are you doing, anyway? It's not until tonight."

"Last minute preparations," Draco replied, pulling on his scarlet Auror issued over robes. Harry sat up. Draco smiled slightly, drinking in the sight of him, hair even more of a mess than usual, mouth cherry red from their activities last night, sitting stark naked with _Draco's _dark green silk sheets pooled around his slim waist…

His face was completely, deadly serious, though. "I should come with you."

"No. This is covert-and you, Potter, are anything but covert right now."

Harry scowled. "And whose fault is that?"

Draco just grinned wickedly at him, slipping out the door.

**...**

When the last minute preparations-assigning the group of Aurors Lewis assigned him to their evening posts, and going over the evacuation plan for when Finnegan arrived-were finished, the rest of the day flew by quickly.

Draco spent the time before Harry had to get ready to meet his 'fans' stretched out on his bed, holding Harry and absently stroking his dark hair. Draco stared up at the ceiling above them, mentally going over every possible scenario, reviewing every spell and counter spell in his large repertoire, should it come down to a duel…

Lost in his reverie, it seemed like a few minutes, rather than hours later when Harry slowly sat up, shaking him gently. "Draco, it's time."

He nodded, rising. Draco knew that Harry hadn't been lying that morning when he said that he trusted him, but it was obvious that he was still nervous. In all honestly, Draco couldn't blame him, not really. For though he would never admit it, he was getting nervous, too. It had been _years _since a target had posed any real threat to him…Just before they Apparated out of Draco's flat, Harry's trembling hand curled loosely with his.

This time, when Ginny saw them holding hands as they arrived at the dressing room in the right wing of the amphitheater's stage, Draco didn't let go until Harry disappeared inside the tiny room. He could feel her disapproving stare drilling into his back.

He turned around, smirking at her. "Look sharp, Weaselette. Show begins in ten." Her mute stare continued to burn into his back as he strolled away, not caring in the least.

**...**

In the dressing room, Harry stared at his reflection in the vanity mirror blankly. He couldn't believe he'd actually let Draco talk him into this…into standing up in front of Merlin knew how many people, all of whom were expecting him to pour out his life story to them…

"You all right, mate?" He jumped at the sound of Ron's voice as the redhead stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Yes and no," Harry mumbled back weakly, secretly wishing he still had Draco's hand to hold, as childish a thought as that was.

Ron shook his head, hanging Harry's new robes on the vanity mirror as he stood behind his best mate. "Crazy world this is when your fans scare you more than your enemies, yeah?" Harry glanced up at his friend. Hermione must have rubbed off on him over the years, too. "Yeah…"

Ron squeezed his shoulder, smiling encouragingly at their reflections. "Nothing to worry about, mate. Almost the entire London Auror branch has your back tonight, like the rest of us."

Harry smiled, imaging that 'the rest of us' meant the majority of the Weasley clan. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron gave his shoulder one last comforting squeeze. "Anytime, mate."

A too short ten minutes later, and Harry, dressed in his new robes, was walking out onto the stage, completely alone. The scarlet curtains were mercifully closed still, but Harry could hear the low rumble of many voices behind it…

He might have walked right on by the podium waiting for him in the center of the stage and fled out the other side, had Draco not been standing there, just behind where the curtains would hang when they were pulled open.

It wasn't a smile, exactly, that touched Draco's deceptively angelic face when he looked at Harry, yet no matter what it could be 'exactly' called, Harry found more comfort and courage in that look in that moment, than in any phoenix, or sword, or even the words of his best friend…

Harry smiled back, relaxed at last as he stepped up to the podium. The way Draco was standing suddenly reminded him of something… "Very Phantom of the Opera, Draco," he murmured. Draco's pale brows rose in a questioning look, but before he could explain the comment, the curtains were being drawn apart.

His smile and newfound confidence withered as he was suddenly faced with several hundred eager stares. The amphitheater was packed, witches and wizards packed in like sardines. Packed as it was, it was suddenly completely eerily silent. All attention was completely focused on him…

He opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. All the words he planned to say utterly abandoned him. A male voice somewhere in the sea of expectant faces shouted, "How did you kill You-Know-Who? I bet he screamed like a little-" Somebody shushed him loudly. Harry felt a surge of grateful confidence. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco shoot a malevolent look at the crowd from behind the heavy curtain.

Confidence further boosted, Harry tried again. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…" Wait, was that a quote from _A Tale of Two Cities_? It had been _years _since Hermione had made him read it, for 'intellectual purposes'. Whatever it was from, he was on a roll now. "It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…"

" 'We had everything before us, we had nothing before us,'…Lovely novel, that." Harry's head snapped around. Finnegan swept onto the stage from the opposite wing from Draco, dressed in smart earthy brown dress robes. He would have looked like a normal, respectable older gent had it not been for the feverish burning in his dark eyes.

Draco made an equally dramatic entrance from his side as Harry backed off the podium, drawing his wand. The people in the front rows gasped, glancing at each other nervously. The other Aurors were starting the evacuation in the back and sides, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye. Good.

"Hello Finnegan," Draco said pleasantly, his wand pointed almost lazily at the other man.

"Mr. Malfoy," Finnegan greeted. "I applaud your ingenuity and sheer gall, but I'm afraid no one upstages my game, not even the great Harry Potter-"

"Bit late for that, mate." Harry couldn't help the grin that split his face as Finnegan whipped around, to find himself faced with the angry wands of the majority of the Weasley clan-Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, even Molly and Arthur.

He turned slowly back to face Harry and Draco. "It looks like I've been caught," he said simply. "Congratulations, a prize for your trouble."

He threw something small and glittery at Harry, and-damn his Seeker instincts-he caught it. As he felt the irresistible pull of a Portkey, he looked up in horror. In slow motion, in the seconds before the Portkey took him away, he saw Finnegan lunge forward, push Draco's wand away and wrap an arm around the blonde, disappearing instantly.

**...**

Draco shoved away from the thin, wiry body, but it was too late. When he overbalanced and fell backward, he fell back on soft grass, not the hard wood of the stage. He sat up fast, bringing his wand to bear once more, but Finnegan didn't appear with him. He was completely and utterly alone, on the top of a small hill.

He punched the soft ground next to him. "What the hell did you _do_, Finnegan? Where am I?" he shouted at the clear sky above uselessly-or so he thought. At his voice a hidden tape recorder began to play.

"And so, the final stage of our game begins," Finnegan purred. "I assume you're asking where you are. Look around, clever boy. I'm sure you can figure it out."

Irritated, Draco pushed himself to his feet, glancing around sharply. He froze.

Below his hill was the entrance to a vast maze that occupied most of the…island? Yes, he was standing _on an island_, but it was what was hanging in the sky above the maze, tainting the summer sky, that set his heart to beat painfully fast.

The Dark Mark.

"No, you…You couldn't have. It's just a myth…"

"I can, and I have, Malfoy," Finnegan purred. "Thanks to dear Mr. Zabini, and extensive research, the Dark Lord's prison island has a new master, now. So run, little Malfoy. Run and prove your worthiness of the title the Wizarding world has bestowed upon you!"

Finnegan's truly mad chuckle followed Draco all the way down the hill.

**A/N: And a cliffhanger! Sorry. I just couldn't resist. Cliffhangers are as bad as chocolate to me. Will get the final chapter up ASAP *wipes tears*.**

**P.S.: Yeah, Harry's little 'speech' is from _The Tale of Two Cities_. Which, like the characters of this story, I don't own. Just sayin'. *sad face***


	6. Trials

**A/N: Here it is! Sorry it took so long…I'm easily distracted when it comes to writing. Quick warning: this became a bit…**_**fluffy**_**. Dunno exactly how being trapped in a maze could get fluffy, but it did. Please enjoy the labors of my strange mind =).**

Draco stepped toward the maze's narrow, pillar-flanked opening, carefully. He silently scrambled to press his back against the cool stone at the sound of a series of crunching steps on the other side.

He waited, ears straining, until the creature must have been framed by the two pillars. He closed his eyes briefly, raising his wand. _One…Two…_

_Three! _Draco sprang out from behind his pillar, shouting, "_Stupefy_!"

The spell skimmed off the giant skrewt's back plates like a drop of water on oiled steel. Draco jumped back, narrowly avoiding the creature's tail. As was typical of his luck these days, his foot caught on a rock and he fell sprawling. He rolled instinctively the second his back hit, narrowly avoiding the tail again.

The roll took him behind one of the pillars-out of the reach of that damn tail, for the moment. He caught sight of the pillar-and _smiled_.

Ivy had grown into the side of the pillar, weaseling its way in over the years, causing a series of deep, spiderweblike cracks in the stone…

He pushed himself up, hauling toward it as the creature hissed, its plates scraping as it pushed its way between the pillars. Draco pressed the tip of his wand against the largest, deepest crack. "_Reducto!_" he shouted.

The spell worked a little too well. Draco was thrown back as it blasted into the pillar, shattering it in half. Lying on his back several feet away, Draco heard the rough scraping of stone on stone, then the shriek of the creature as the broken pillar crashed on top of it.

The thing didn't die; it was pinned underneath the pieces of the pillar. Draco could hear the hideous creature's plates scraping as it writhed. Draco smirked up at the cold blue sky, pushing himself back to his feet.

The destroyed pillar opened a hole between the giant wall-like hedge of the maze and where the pillar had once stood. Draco jumped lightly through it, his smirk widening at the trapped beast. _Malfoy: 1, Maze: 0_.

On the other side, the heat of the warm tropical island day vanished. The air was suddenly still and cold, a stagnate, biting chill that sunk its fangs into Draco's skin immediately, stealing away the warmth of the fight so quickly that Draco uttered a small gasp.

Environment charm. _Fun_. As if giant creatures trying to kill him weren't enough, he now had the weather to contend with, too. He pulled his thin red Auror robes tighter around his body and forged on, grimly taking the maze's right-hand path.

**…...**

One might have expected horrible, nightmarish creatures around every corner-this maze _was_ Lord Voldemort's creation, after all-but Draco knew better than most of the snake-faced git's love of dangling hope in front of his victims, holding it just within their desperate grasp, then yanking it away. The lack of creatures was just that-hope being dangled, with Finnegan as the helpful puppeteer.

So Draco remained wary, wand up and at the ready. No amount of wariness, nor Auror experience, could prepare him for what _did _finally appear around one of the maze's many corners, however.

Mist. Pale, milky fingers of mist crept along the ground of a broad avenue. The fine hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up, and he instinctively dropped into a half-crouch, creeping along close to the maze's left-hand hedge wall.

He'd only crept a few steps before a truly awful, acrid smell assaulted his nose. It was as familiar as it was terrible-

_Wood smoke_, he remembered with a jolt. The mist was no longer just little tendrils on the ground but a boiling opaque wall before him. As the smell of burning wood grew overwhelmingly strong, a nameless, bone-deep terror seized Draco's heart/ Something very precious to him was being destroyed behind that mist. All caution gone and forgotten, Draco sprinted through the opaque wall, the familiar ivory stones of a broad path crunching beneath his feet.

The mist parted like one long, freezing curtain before his headlong rush. When he finally burst out on the other side, he skidded to a stop, kicking up a shower of white stones.

The Manor was burning.

His home, the home of his childhood, was completely engulfed, gutted by hungry flames.

In the dancing light of the fire, Draco saw a shadow flit around the side, towards the back. His eyes narrowed, and a fury, a blood-boiling _rage_ he hadn't felt since he was a teenager filled him, setting him to sprinting again. He would catch the _scum_ who did this to his family's ancestral home, and by Merlin they would pay _dearly_-

Warning bells jangled in his head-old Slytherin instincts that screamed at him to stop, that there was something hideously wrong in this picture-but for once he didn't listen. He tore around the back of the burning Manor at full speed, crying out in rage-blind triumph when he saw the perpetrator.

The bastard stood with his back to Draco, wearing plain black robes with the hood up. Draco slowed, approaching with the strides of a hunting cat, his wand raised…

The figure turned around calmly as he drew close, the hood dropping back, and Draco stopped, eyes widening in dawning horror.

His own face stared back, his teenage self, but it was all wrong. His face was paler than normal and sickly, but his eyes were wide and alive, feverishly bright, his mouth twisted in an insane parody of his old smirk. He was a nightmare version of who Draco could have been, all those years ago-who he could have been if he had murdered Dumbledore. As Draco watched, the smirk widened, his own grey eyes bleeding scarlet as the nightmare lifted his wand-

"_Riddikulus_!" The nightmare's thin lips pulled back in a soundless snarl, disappearing, becoming a dark shadow once more, fleeing the spell. As Draco stared, wide-eyed, after it, a calloused hand yanked him around into a hug.

_Harry_. As Draco wrapped his arms around the familiar warm shape, burying his face into his neck, all of it vanished-the mist, the burning Manor, the horrible smell, all of it. The hedge walls rose up on either side once more, as stark as ever.

Harry pulled back, emerald eyes wide with worry. "Draco! You okay? It didn't curse you…?"

It. The boggart. Ugh. Of any possible creature in the whole damn _world _for Harry to swoop in and save him from, it had to be a measly _boggart_. Some fearsome Auror he was cracking up to be. He nodded slowly, skin heating up in shame as Harry pulled him back into a hug.

Directly behind them, another boiling shadow was beginning to take a vaguely Dementorish shape. Draco glared, flicking his own wand at it. "_Riddikulus_."

The second boggart skittered away, just as the other had. As Harry stiffened in Draco's arms, Draco nuzzled his ear and whispered, "You should really learn to watch your back, Potter."

Harry relaxed. Then he appeared to be trembling. "Harry…?" Of all the shit they've gone through, and of all the shit they had yet to go through, he couldn't possibly be getting hysterical on Draco _now_. All things considered, it should be Draco getting hysterical (not that he ever _would_, mind). _He _was the one who'd just witnessed his childhood home burning and a nightmare version of his teenage self.

He pulled back to tell Harry just that, when he realized something. Harry wasn't crying or panicking; he was _laughing_. His whole body shook with barely suppressed giggles that erupted into loud peals of laughter as Draco watched.

"What the _hell _are you laughing at, Potter?" Harry wasn't listening. He punched the air with a loud, "Woo!"

Draco shook his head at him. He almost preferred hysteria. Almost.

Outburst of dorkiness-ah, _triumph_ over, Harry dropped his arm, looking at Draco in a sudden fit of seriousness. "Draco, where the hell are we?"

Draco sighed. How typically Gryffindor-blunder right into a fight and pay not the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings. He briefly considered just pointing up, at the Dark Mark that still hovered high overhead like a dark, macabre sun, but decided against it. A more detailed explanation was required.

"That bastard Finnegan has somehow found Voldemort's prison island and put us inside it."

Harry blinked at him slowly, rather like a really dim fish, all the color draining from his face. "Prison island?"

Draco nodded. "It was a secret, something He was rumored to be working on during the War. No one seemed to know where it was. I always assumed it to be a myth, a superstition purposefully circulated to scare enemies and allies alike. But here we are, thanks to Finnegan and Zabini."

Harry bit his lip, the fear Draco had been expecting earlier stealing over his face. Draco automatically reached out, cupping Harry's warm face in his freezing palms.

"This isn't Voldemort, Harry. Finnegan has a goal, a purpose, and it's not necessarily to kill us."

Harry's gaze sharpened. "'Not _necessarily _to kill us?''

"It's his game. He wants us-_me_ to prove myself. We beat this maze and we _win_, in other words."

Harry cocked his head at Draco, fear disappearing in the wake of a small smirk. " "'We'?"

Draco blew out a small breath, suddenly feeling like he was conceding something bigger and more important than just their shared goal. "Yes. We."

"Okay." Harry took Draco's hands off his face, automatically rubbing the still-cold fingers firmly. His smirk widened. "Just try not to slow me down, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Pfft. In your dreams, Potter."

**…...**

With the little reunion over, they started off again, Draco slightly behind to watch their rear-and Harry's too, of course, out of the corner of his eye. He blinked rapidly, cursing himself and looking away. If they were going to survive this, he couldn't afford to be distracted, especially by Harry.

"Draco," Harry said quietly, about an hour in to their shared walk.

"Yes?"

"You don't think there could be…_dragons_ in here, do you?"

_Possibly._ It was a testament to how Hufflepuffish Potter had made Draco in that, instead of answering matter-of-factly, he muttered, "Probably not."

It was an even greater testament to how Slytherin Potter had become in dealing with Draco that he returned, "You're lying."

"If you knew the answer, why did you ask?" Draco shot back, irritated. Harry's response was only to take Draco's hand and squeeze. Draco sighed, squeezing back.

Shortly after, Harry's stomach gurgled. "Erm, Draco? You wouldn't happen to have an apple or something, would you?"

Draco sighed in exasperation. "No. I wasn't exactly expecting to be in a situation where something like that would be _needed_." Damn Potter. At the mention of food, even something as common as an _apple, _his own stomach decided to voice its objections to being empty. Hell, he could almost _smell_-

"Do you smell that?" Harry asked suddenly, halting. "It smells like…peaches, coming from-" His head swiveled like a foxhound searching for the scent of a fox. "-there."

A second path, one that Draco swore hadn't been there before, was where Harry was looking, smelling strongly of peaches. Shooting Draco a wary glance, Harry took it. Draco followed uneasily after.

The path was narrower that the one they'd been following, and shorter. They had only been walking for a few minutes when it opened out into a wide, circular area filled with…yep. Peach trees.

Draco's hand tightened reflexively on his wand as he moved up to walk side by side with Harry, while the other started carefully toward the closest tree.

It was when Harry was carefully reaching for a peach on a low-hanging branch when Draco saw it.

_Chimera_.

"Harry-" The ugly beast's lion head opened its mouth. Draco grabbed his partner, shoving him behind the tree as he dove away. Draco hit the ground flat on his stomach, covering his head as a dragon-worthy spurt of flame shot dangerously close.

_Hope dangled, hope snatched_.

"_Draco_!" Harry shouted. Draco threw himself into a roll as the thing charged-an action that was quickly becoming a habit, one that wasn't doing his formerly pristine white shirt any favors.

But this time, there was no pillar to hide behind, and the chimera was smarter than any fire crab hybrid. It thundered past, but turned, long, lean body twisting mid-stride, bringing its serpent-head tail to bear-

In typically, Gryffindorkish fashion, Harry, disregarding the wand still clenched in his fist, darted out from where Draco had shoved him behind the tree, slamming into the creature's side. As it staggered, all three of its heads bellowing, Harry grabbed the neck of the goat head and attempted to swing up behind it, too close for the serpent to get at and away from the fire breathing lion.

The plan might have worked, Draco thought, except the beast didn't wait for Harry to get seated properly before bucking like an unbroken Abraxan. Harry was thrown instantly, hitting the knobbly roots of a nearby tree at an awkward angle.

The thing rounded on him, the lion head snarling. Draco shoved himself to his feet, pointing his wand at its hind legs. "_Immobulus_!"

The thick cords that shot from his wand only managed to capture one of its legs, but it did its job. The beast turned, the gout of flame meant for Harry swinging in a wide arc, _back towards Draco_. He ended the spell, throwing himself down and rolling, barely avoiding the flames once more.

But it gave Draco an idea.

He rolled onto his stomach, aiming carefully. "_Immobulus_."

Chains shot from the end of his wand, wrapping around the lion's neck like a collar. It hissed and growled, dragging Draco along the ground. He silently wept for his shirt-it was definitely ruined now.

"Surely, you can do better than _that_," he managed to sneer. Apparently it could, because in the next second, Draco was flying. Draco adjusted, extending the chain so that when it caught on the thick trunk of a nearby tree, he swung around, twice.

Luckily-a term rarely, if ever, associated with Draco Malfoy-Draco managed to land, boots first, behind the wide trunk. He tied off the loops magically, then turned and ran, half-hunched, half expecting to be incinerated in retribution for such a sorry, half-arsed plan.

He wasn't. The chimera reacted like the bumbling, enraged creature it was; the second it glimpsed Draco's fleeing form, it charged, the lion opening its mouth, intending to burn the peach tree it was chained to out of its way.

It would have worked-the magical fire of a chimera was powerful-except it was too concentrated. The flames ate right through the bark in a fairly straight line. Draco heard a crash and a collective shriek, then silence as he dove forward, to avoid the last of the flames.

Slightly singed, but otherwise unhurt, Draco pushed himself to his feet. He brushed a ridiculous amount of grass and dirt off his person, grimacing at the state of himself-the giant grass stain all over his front in particular. Then Harry groaned, and Draco forgot all about his clothes.

He trotted over to where Harry lay, his heart suddenly beating a strange, quick, lurching rhythm inside his chest. Harry looked up at him as he approached-a good sign. Draco let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he crouched down beside Harry, his knees cracking.

"You're crazy, Malfoy," he said flatly, green eyes wide as he looked at Draco.

A genuine smile pulled at the corners of the former Slytherin's mouth, a laugh tickling at the back of his throat as he held a hand out to his partner. "Now that's a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, Potter."

Harry snorted, taking the offered hand. As Draco pulled him up, however, he flinched with a quiet gasp. Draco froze, his grip tightening as he scanned every inch of him worriedly (not that that's what he'd call it.). "What is it?" He couldn't help the sharp edge to his tone.

"My leg. And my ribs, I think." Draco scanned him quickly, this time with his wand.

"Nothing's broken." _Thank Merlin_. Harry nodded, and after a split second decision, Draco put Harry's arm around his shoulders, wrapping his own arm carefully around Harry's waist, pulling him close.

He expected resistance-Harry being a perpetual martyr _and _a ridiculously stubborn Gryffindor-but he got the exact opposite. Harry relaxed, seemingly content to lean on Draco-not entirely, but enough that his trust was evident-his head resting lightly on Draco's collarbone.

As Draco guided him out of the area, however, he stopped, head lifting off of Draco's shoulder. "Draco…"

Draco looked at him. "What?"

Harry was looking up, at the branches of the last tree in the grove, one they were standing under. Two peaches dangled there, ripe and perfect, on a branch just low enough to reach.

Draco looked back at Harry, raising one pale eyebrow. "You can't possibly be serious." Harry said nothing, merely looked at him, raising his own brows and widening those damn green eyes innocently.

Draco sighed, reaching up to pluck the peaches.

**…...**

Draco was surprisingly easy to lean against, Harry noted with mild surprise. Despite looking thin enough to be blown away by a strong gust of wind, he was a strong, solid presence beside Harry-and his shoulder made a nice, warm pillow, despite being rather bony.

Harry's entire bruised body ached; it wanted nothing more than for him to leave his head where it was and doze, safe under his partner's watchful gaze. But his mind and his heart were focused on something much more important than rest.

"Draco…" Grey eyes flickered at him briefly. Draco was still nibbling on his peach, his wand still clutched tight and ready in the fist of the arm that still draped almost gently around Harry's waist. Harry had scarfed down his peach immediately, something he was beginning to regret as his stomach sloshed nervously. He swallowed reflexively, focused on Draco's face.

Once he was sure he had Draco's attention, and complete control over his unruly stomach, he cleared his throat. "Erm…Once this is all over…when we're back home…How about we go out to dinner, just you and me?"

Draco's eyes flared wide in surprise, then narrowed. "Now is hardly the time to be talking about such things, Po-Harry."

Now was the perfect time, actually. Relationships beyond friendship and the physical never came easy for Harry, and he'd had only the faintest hope that there could be something serious between him and Draco-until the chimera bore down on Draco, its serpent tail raised to strike. It was at that moment that he knew that he didn't just _want _Draco-he _needed _him, all of him, the good and the bad. He knew, too, that in order to get what he wanted, what he _needed_, he would have to go after it.

And when Draco walked up to him, after the fight…he had looked terrified, whereas before he'd looked focused, and irritated, with the chimera. He had looked that way for _Harry_. That was when he knew he had a chance.

Now he had taken that chance, and he would have no regrets, come what may. Though, admittedly, it might have been better if he wasn't so bruised and slung on Draco's pillow-worthy shoulder like a drunk friend after a particularly wild party…

Draco must have noticed the obstinate set to Harry's jaw and in his eyes (what Hermione and Ginny had come to call 'the pitbull look') because he sighed, his usual huffy sigh. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

Well, it wasn't a no. Harry's heart fluttered hopefully. "No."

"You do realize we are still up to our necks in danger and that the slightest span of inattention to our surroundings could get us _both _killed?"

Still not a no. Suddenly feeling more confident, Harry snorted. "Stop avoiding the question, Draco. You've been paying enough attention for the both of us, and you know it." He had, actually. Those stormy grey eyes had been darting restlessly ever since they left the peach grove.

Draco closed his eyes briefly, biting his bottom lip. He opened them, and gave Harry an annoyed, adorable almost-pouty look. "All right, _fine_. But _you're _buying."

Harry's heart swelled, drowning out Draco's last words. He stopped, using the arm around Draco's shoulders to stop him and pull the blonde closer. To Harry's surprised pleasure, the arm Draco had around his waist tightened, closing the last sliver of a gap between them. Harry's head tilted, his chapped lips hovering just above Draco's…

A rustle and a sharp snap made them both look up…and freeze.

"Harry…" Draco whispered, as Harry swallowed dryly. "I think your dragon question has been answered."

**A/N: The End!**

**Okay, okay, before you get your mob on, I'm just kidding! I know I said that this was going to be the last chapter, and I thought it was, but the rabid plot bunny apparently had other ideas. You can also blame her for the evil cliffhanger =). **

**So, what do you think? =).**


	7. Last Dance

**A/N: Here it is, the. Last. Chapter! *sniffles* I'm sad to see it end. This is my favorite fic that I've done so far...but anyway, enough rambling! Please tell me what you think-after you've read it, of course! =)**

The dragon stared at them with wide yellow eyes, black scales glittering in the cold sun.

Living in Romania for the past nine years had made Harry quite familiar with dragons. _Russian Red ridge, _an encyclopedia-esque voice that sounded suspiciously like Charlie Weasley announced somewhere in the back of his mind._ Ill-tempered, largely flightless species that spits corrosive acid. Rarely found in the wild. Bred mainly for-_

"Security purposes," Harry whispered. The beast bared its rather long and wicked-looking front fangs, its long throat convulsing-

"Draco, _run_!" Harry gripped the frozen blonde's shoulders, shoving him away. Draco grabbed Harry's arm as he turned and sprinted, dragging Harry with him. A burst of adrenaline helped him to keep up, but Harry didn't have to be a Healer to know that it wouldn't last, not with his screaming leg and ribs.

The beast was _fast_, well adapted for dashing after intruders into its domain. Without Harry slowing him down, Draco had a chance if he dodged through the sudden mess of hedge-corridors they were now face with.

"Draco, _let go of me_."

Grey eyes, bright with anger and fear, flashed at him. "No fucking way, Potter. You're not playing the martyr. Not today. Not for me."

"Draco, _please_." They were reaching a split, a sharp two-way split in the main corridor they were following. If they both went down the same narrowed path, they wouldn't make it. The dragon would catch them for sure.

"_No_-"

The dragon tore around the small curve they'd just cleared, loosing its load of acid. Harry, grimacing, threw himself down. Draco, his self-preservation instincts kicking in at last, jumped away from the shower of acid, his hand tearing away from Harry's.

"Damn it, Potter!" Draco snarled, furious. Harry saw his eyes dart about, but the ground between them was now drenched in skin-melting acid. There was no way he could get close enough to grab Harry again-just as Harry had hoped. _Run, Draco. Please._

Draco glared at him, a scorching flash of tearful, mercurial silver. Then he raised his wand and eyes to the dragon Harry could hear bearing down on them from behind.

"_Reducto!_" Harry's eyes widened in surprise as the dragon roared in pain and aggravation. "C'mon, you fucking oversized lizard!" Sending one last scorching glance at Harry, Draco took off down the left hand path. In the same second, the dragon was _right over Harry_. He cringed, covering his head, expecting to be eaten or acid-burned alive-but then the dragon passed right over him as if he wasn't there, too fixated on Draco's fleeing form and the stinging array of hexes and spells he was no doubt still flinging. _Drawing it away..._

When both disappeared, Harry dragged himself to the beginning of the right-hand path, and pressed his back against the hedge wall, drawing his legs up. His heart was pounding wildly, his whole body trembling. All he could think about was Draco. If anything happened to him-

_No, Harry get a grip! _He'd been through hell before, and he didn't fall to pieces and wring his hands like a helpless fairytale maiden. _Think, Harry. _He couldn't get over the acid spatter safely-not with his leg. His only option was the right hand path, and pray that the two paths would reconnect somewhere further down. Not the best, but he had no real choice in the matter...

Gripping the hedge behind him, Harry gathered his good leg beneath him. _One...Two..._

_Three. _A sharp, Parseltongue-worthy hiss of pain escaped from between clenched teeth as he slowly rose. He leaned against the hedge, sweating despite the cold, but only for a minute before shoving away, forcing his protesting body to move.

_Come on. You can do this. You have to. _The first few steps were agony, but that quickly faded into the background as his body settled into a limping, lurching roll of a gait. He was so focused on maintaining his churning, rhythmic pace, he didn't notice the mist starting to curl around his feet...

It wasn't until he was starting to hear music-_classical _music-some time later that he started paying attention. He slowed his pace, gripping his wand tighter as he rounded a gentle curve...

The first thing he saw was a flash of white-blonde hair-then nothing else mattered. "_Draco!_" He lurched forward with all his might, throwing his arms around the warm shape. Draco steadied him, wiry arms wrapping around his body.

"Draco, I'm sorry, the dragon, I-" he was babbling, but he was too relieved to care.

"Harry." Harry looked up, to see Draco looking at him, the same slightly crooked smile he'd given Harry hours ago, after the fight with the Chimaera, on his face. Harry froze, jaw dropping slightly in shock. The expression was warmer than before, the warmest, most unguarded expression he had ever seen on Draco's face. His eyes were soft, the grey so light it was almost white.

He touched Harry's hair, stroking it lightly, briefly. "Come on, Harry." He started to move back, but Harry staggered, clinging to him and gasping at the sudden flare of pain from his leg and ribs.

Draco clucked his tongue, brow quirking. "What have you done to yourself _now_, Harry?" He leaned down, and Harry felt his wand prod first his side, and then his leg. Relief instantly flooded through both as whatever was damaged healed.

"Thank you," he gasped.

Suddenly, the strange music swelled, sounding as if it was extremely close by. Draco smiled again, taking Harry's hands. "Dance with me, Harry."

Harry gaped at him, then at where they were. The hedge walls were no longer there, replaced by walls of cream-colored marble; the grass beneath their feet was replaced by a thick, rich Slytherin green carpet. Behind Draco was a pair of beautiful oak doors, opened out onto...a ballroom right out of a Victorian film, except the dress robes of the dancers and the orchestra were slightly more modern.

Draco tugged insistently on his hands. "But Draco-" Harry was confused. Something wasn't right here. They couldn't go out there. "-we're filthy-"

Draco's immaculate eyebrows rose. "No we're not."

"Yes we-" Harry looked down at himself, and gasped. "-are?" His dirty and torn dress robes were gone, replaced by immaculate, bottle-green silk ones. His hands, nails and skin were spotlessly clean. He looked, wide-eyed, at Draco. Gone were his grass-stained shirt and dusty red Auror robes. Instead, he was wearing dark crimson and black dress robes, also silk. As Harry continued to stare at him, bemused-he was really quite beautiful-Draco, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulled on his hands again. This time Harry didn't resist, letting his Draco lead him out into the ballroom. The crowd parted automatically for them, until they were standing in the middle of the room.

Draco tugged him closer, sliding an arm around his shoulders, his other hand holding Harry's. Harry's free hand automatically rested on Draco's waist.

"Erm, Draco-?"

"Shh." Draco led Harry gently through the steps of the waltz, mirroring perfectly what the other couples were doing, though his gaze never left Harry's. Harry settled into the flow of the dance, a smile creeping onto his face despite the small, Hermione-ish voice in the back of his mind, telling him over and over that something was wrong here...

As Harry lowered Draco into a smooth dip, there was two sharp _cracks_. Gasps echoed throughout the room as the music suddenly cut out. Draco straightened, looking stormy. "Damn bastards. Wait here, Harry. I'll take care of this."

The shocked crowd parted easily before Draco's furious stride. Harry followed, a hard knot of terrible dread forming in his gut.

As Draco, with Harry right behind, reached the edge of the crowd, the visitors came into sight, two men, one tall, one short, dressed in black cloaks. One of them-the shorter one-moved his head just enough for his hood to twitch back a bit, enough for Harry to see the edge of a bone white mask.

Ice shot through his veins. They weren't facing Draco directly, so he couldn't see... "Draco!" he started to yell in warning, when there was a sudden a flurry of movement behind him, and hands with grips like cold iron grabbed him. A cold, clammy hand clapped over his mouth, stopping a fresh shout building in his throat.

Draco's head snapped around at his voice. "Harry-?"

"Filthy blood traitor!" the shorter of the black-hooded figures snarled, launching himself at Draco. The second, the taller one, echoed the shout, jumping at Draco too. The pair wrestled the struggling blonde to his knees, wrenching his wand out of his hand. They held him down, facing a small door behind them...

The door swung open soundlessly. A blanket of bone-chilling, heart-stopping cold spread over Harry long before he saw the Dementor glide out. Harry froze, his blood turning to ice as he stared in disbelieving horror as the monster swept towards Draco...

"Harry?" Draco's whimper cut through Harry's horrified daze better than any knife. He started to thrash in earnest as it drew closer to his beloved Draco.

"Harry?" Draco's voice rose higher in desperate terror. "Harry, please!"

The louder and more hysterical Draco's cries became, the harder and more frantic Harry's own struggles became. "_Draco_!" But every step of progress he made away from the restraining hands, every inch toward the Dementor he was able to pull his wand, the steel-grip on his shoulders and arms would drag him two steps, two _inches _back. He fought them with every ounce of energy he had, screaming Draco's name...but it wasn't enough.

Draco twisted in his own captors' grip as the Dementor halted before him. "HARRY! Harry, please! _Help me_!" But Harry could only watch as a scaly hand slid out from beneath the Dementor's robes, clasping Draco's pale, slender neck, its hooded head bowing down...

"_Draco, NO!"_

"Harry! _Harry!_" It took him a minute to realize he was struggling against only one set of hands now, rather than several. He stopped fighting, blinking, looking up to see two stormy grey eyes glaring down at him. "_Draco!_" He threw his arms around him. The warm body stiffened beneath Harry's embrace.

"You haven't been forgiven yet." He was informed stiffly, but in that particular moment, Harry could care less. Draco was alive and well; all of it had been just a terrible, bizarre illusion...

He didn't realize how badly he was shivering, or that his sudden inability to breathe properly was due to gasps that were more like sobs until Draco's arms settled around him once again, hands awkwardly rubbing on Harry's arms and back to warm him. Harry turned his head, kissing his cheek and pressing his face there, drawing more reassurance from the comforting warmth of the skin there and Draco's unique, spicy scent.

As Harry calmed down, he remember something. He pulled back from Draco. "The dragon-!"

Draco looked tired, and even dirtier than when Harry last saw him, but the self-satisfied smirk on his face at Harry's question was one hundred percent the Draco that reveled in driving Harry insane with irritation and lust, almost in equal measure.

"I lost it. It was a massive pain in my arse, but I did it." The self-satisfied smirk sharpened into something harder, steelier. "And Potter? If you _ever _offer yourself up as bait to a dragon, or any other sorry-arsed, Hades-damned creature in my presence again, I will take great pleasure in personally skinning you alive with a rusty knife. Is that clear?"

Harry gave a shaky, tearful laugh, pulling his partner into another fierce hug. "Clear as crystal, Draco."

**...**

Draco, as they continued their shared walk, couldn't help but wonder what Harry had been seeing that made him break down like that, screaming Draco's name so loudly, that Draco himself had heard him long before he came to the small gap in the hedge. He was calm now, but Draco could feel his glance every now and then. Harry wasn't letting him out of his sight. Just as well. Draco wasn't letting the stupid Gryffindor out of his sight either, not after the shit he tried to pull with the dragon.

Speaking of which...outrunning the stunningly fast bastard had not been easy. Every muscle and tendon in his body, especially in his legs, ached and his chest burned, but he knew better than to rest just yet. He had no idea how long his luck-inspired lead over that damn lizard would last...

"Draco."

He didn't look round. "Yes?" Harry's hand caught his elbow, tugging on it lightly.

"Sit down. You look like you're about to fall over."

Draco shook his head obstinately. Next thing he knew, a wave of pressure hit the back of his weakened knees and he toppled backward on a thick, soft patch of grass next to the hedge wall.

"Damn it, Potter-"

"Draco."

"_What_?"

"Shut up." Harry sat cross-legged behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest and pulling him down, into his lap.

"This is ridiculous, Harry," Draco glared. Harry's face was quiet, as it had been since he'd calmed down after their second reunion, the slightest of smiles curling the ends of his mouth as he looked down at Draco.

"Go to sleep, Draco. I'll keep watch." Draco stubbornly held that gentle, almost tender green gaze, refusing to give in, crossing his arms over his chest, almost petulantly.

Draco's scalp had always been sensitive-something he had unwittingly let Harry know in the weeks before the 'tell all'. Unfortunately, Harry must have remember this little quirk about him, because he started stroking Draco's messy, dirt-ridden hair, with slow, languid strokes.

"Th-that's _cheating_," Draco managed around a wide yawn he tried and failed to suppress. Harry didn't answer him, merely smiling wider and humming a familiar tune under his breath that Draco's foggy brain struggled to recognize. He never managed to figure it out, either, because within the next minute, he was fast asleep.

When he woke up, he was lying on his side, facing the hedge wall. Harry was stretched out behind him, with his arm tucked protectively around Draco's chest, his other arm cushioning Draco's head. Harry's over robes were draped over them both.

As Draco stirred, Harry mumbled almost timidly, "Sorry. You were shivering..."

Draco snorted. "A good excuse to do unspeakable things to me whilst I was asleep, I'm sure."

Harry nuzzled his ear. "Well, if the past means anything, I wouldn't have to wait for you to be asleep to do unspeakable things to you-ow! What was _that _for?"

Draco smiled sweetly, digging his elbow into Harry's stomach a bit more. "For implying that I am _easy_, Potter."

Harry laughed, a pleasant, full, rumbling sound behind him as he carefully sat up. Harry sat up with him, one hand resting lightly on Draco's stomach, the other softly stroking and rubbing his shoulder, almost unconsciously. "Any better?"

Draco rolled his shoulders, stretching out his legs. His muscles uncurled and moved reluctantly. "Stiff, but I'll manage." He pushed himself up, missing Harry's warmth immediately as the cold settled over him again. He glanced at Harry as he rose too, shaking out his once nice over robes, remembering something.

"Your leg. It was injured before." Harry didn't look at him, the playful bantering between them suddenly turning as cold as the environment as he paid a ridiculous amount of attention to putting his robes back on.

"It's fine," he said quietly after a moment. "Come on." He started off, in the lead once more.

"That's a change. Usually _I'm _the sullen, focused one," Draco said to his retreating back. Harry didn't answer, nor did he even glance back. Draco sighed, and followed after.

Further down, the air seemed to change. It grew..._warmer_, less stagnate. Draco shared a surprised glance with Harry. "We're getting close."

"Yeah, but to _what_?" Draco shook his head, shrugging his shoulders slightly. _No idea_.

The farther they walked after that, the warmer it got, as if they were finally moving out of the Environmental charm's range. _Or perhaps a new one is taking effect. _Lovely. He was _desperately _missing the possibility of a sunburn. Really.

But after its initial rise, the temperature remained steady, almost balmy, not too hot, not too cold. Almost unconsciously, their pace sped up. They turned a corner (there appeared to be a ridiculously large amount of those in this particular maze) and suddenly, there it was: a wide break in the hedge wall, leading out onto...

"Draco," Harry breathed. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"A sparkling white beach and the ocean? Yes." They approached the break in the hedge wall together, side-by-side, with soft, wary steps, wands up and ready.

Harry glanced at Draco, his profile backlit by the warm glow of a tropical sunset. "It's not an illusion if we can both see it, right?"

"Usually." Draco's gaze never wavered from the pristine white expanse of the beach. Against his will he felt a cautious glimmer of hope. Could this be the end of this bizarre, extremely fucked up encounter at last?

When they passed through the gap, Draco felt a slight pressure against his entire front, as if the air itself had thickened to resist them. But in the space of a blink of an eye, the feeling was gone, and they were through, none the worse for wear.

Harry looked at him again, a look of pure elation on his face this time. "Draco, we did it! We're out!"

"Harry-" But Harry wasn't listening. He whooped like he was sixteen again, tearing across the sparkling white sand toward the waves, whose thunderous roar Draco could finally hear.

Draco suppressed his growing smile at Harry's outburst, his well-cultivated pessimism breaking through his own relief. He scanned along the small crescent of the beach, looking for a trap, a catch, _something_. Unless he'd completely misjudged Finnegan and the depths of his insane narcissism, the bastard wouldn't have gone through all this trouble just to let them go without a fuss when they reached the end of the maze.

When his eyes traveled back to the suddenly silent Harry, he groaned inwardly, feeling his stomach plummeting to hover somewhere near his feet. Why must he always be right?

"Finnegan," Draco called calmly, approaching carefully. But Finnegan wasn't looking at him, not directly; he was focused on Harry, turning the dark-haired man's face with the wand under his chin. They stood on the edge of the beach, the tide lapping at their heels, gazes locked.

"I understand now why the Dark Lord became so frustrated with you," Finnegan said softly, looking at Harry with his head slightly cocked, as if Harry was a riddle he was struggling to solve. "You have an impeccable knack for weaseling out of otherwise deadly situations. Although-" Here his cold brown eyes flickered to the warily approaching Draco. "-it helps to have a more clever wizard wrapped around one's finger."

Now was hardly the time for pride, but Draco felt himself bristling anyway. "I am _not _wrapped around anyone's finger, let alone Potter's."

Finnegan sighed, like a teacher whose star student had missed something completely obvious. "But you _are_, Mr. Malfoy. You _are_." Finnegan's attention was back on Draco, his wand straying toward him. Harry, the idiot, shifted accordingly.

"Leave him alone," Harry growled. Finnegan's wild eyebrows arched, a dangerously fascinated glint lighting up his eye.

"So it goes _both _ways. _Fascinating_." He cocked his head at Harry again, a slight, glib smile on his ragged face. "_Crucio_." Harry's back jerked as he cried out, collapsing in the sand.

No matter how much the papers vehemently claimed otherwise, Draco's every move over the course of his entire career had always been guided by calm calculation. But the second that hideous word left Finnegan's lips, that carefully built system of composed logic shattered into a million pieces. Emotion-a pure, powerful, volatile _fury_-took its place, propelling him forward.

_Not again_, the many-scarred victim in him screamed. No one else that he loved would suffer that fucking curse, not when he finally, _finally _had the power to stop it.

He slammed into Finnegan, bearing the older man down into the wet sand, pinning him there, wand pressed against his throat like a knife.

Mad eyes gleamed up at him. "Now _that _is more like it!" Before Draco could press his advantage, a surge of pressure threw him off. Finnegan was back on his feet in a flash, his wand pointed down at Draco.

"_Get up_, Mr. Malfoy!" Finnegan shrieked like a demented child, almost skipping in place with barely restrained, entirely insane glee. "You've proven yourself worthy of a face-to-face confrontation with your quarry! 'Tis bad form to keep him _waiting_!"

Draco pulled himself up, the sea washing over his feet. He raised his wand-

A gash appeared on his seawater drenched forearm. Draco hissed as the salt stung in the fresh wound. _Wordless magic. _Damn.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Draco gasped.

"_Protego_," the madman purred right back. Draco cursed loudly. As they circled one another, Draco noted that Harry was recovering, moving slowly, as to not catch Finnegan's attention.

But Finnegan's madness-sharpened eyes noticed the movement anyway. Growling, he whipped around, slashing his wand viciously like a knife. Harry cringed, but Draco threw out his arm. "_Protego_!" he cried. But it was just a feint. The real spell was aimed at Draco-he realized his mistake as another gash ripped open his other forearm. It, like the first one, was deep enough to hurt like hell, but shallow enough not to be serious-which was exactly what he wanted, Draco realized as Finnegan capered, cackling like a Hag on the hunt.

"Fencing-" His eyes gleamed wickedly. "-is a sport best played with blood, is it not, dear Malfoy?"

His father had taught him fencing, but not like this. Lucius had taught his son finesse, and a version of fencing in which one had a healthy respect for their opponent and the subtleties of the sport. Finnegan's version had none of that. It was fencing-if one could call it that-in its basest and most primal form, hacking ruthlessly at one another in every possible opening. It was attempting to tear each other apart; it was attempting to force the other to submit in the most brutal way possible.

_I won't submit! _Draco vowed as Finnegan scored a hit on his cheek. _Not to him, the sick bastard!_

The 'fencing' became such an intense battle of wills as well as flashing wands that both participants forgot everything else-the sea spray that stung in their wounds, the treacherous wet sand that sucked at their feet, and most importantly, they forgot about Harry-which was exactly what the man was hoping for.

Neither saw the dark-haired man push himself to his feet. Neither saw him raise his wand...

"_Incarcerous_!" Harry bellowed. White bars shot up around Finnegan, trapping him. Draco blinked, surprised; then, together, moving as one, he and Harry layered the prison with every protective spell they knew. Finnegan didn't sit quietly through this-he went wild, flinging spells at the side of his prison, bellowing and clawing with his hands when they didn't work, long after Draco and Harry had stopped casting.

Then he went quiet, deadly quiet, his thin chest heaving. Shaking off Harry's warning hand, Draco approached the bars, a vindictive, hot, gloating anger boiling inside his chest.

At his approached, Finnegan's head shot up to stare at him. "Allen Finnegan-" Draco's steady voice was barely above a whisper between his own panting breaths, blood trickling freely down his cheek and arms. "-do you yield?"

Finnegan calmed, brown gaze going steely as he drew himself up to his full height, lifting his chin proudly. "Death before dishonor." The words were so quiet from the man's parched, bloodied lips that Draco barely heard him. He shoved his own wand against his throat, eyes gleaming once again in wicked triumph. "_Avada Kadavra._"

At the words, Harry lunged forward, yanking a stunned Draco into the sand and covering him with his own body. Finnegan, meanwhile, slumped lifelessly in his prison, a smug, triumphant smirk as his death mask.

"Draco! _Draco!_" Harry's voice was almost a sob. Draco, still a bit dazzled by the sudden flash of green light, felt his partner's rough, desperate hands cup his face, smearing the blood.

Draco blinked furiously to clear his vision. "Stop whining, Potter. I'm fine. Finnegan...killed himself."

"Oh good." Harry was trying and failing to control his rather expressive face. Draco arched an eyebrow as he settled on a watery smile, shifting a bit. Suddenly Draco felt something hard trapped between their chests. Draco's gaze flickered down to see something gold glinting just beneath the neck of Harry's ruined shirt.

"So Draco," Harry said softly as the insistent tug of a Portkey enveloped them. "How about that dinner?"

Draco stared up at him incredulously. "You're thinking about your stomach _now_, of all times?"

"No, actually. I was thinking about something more like _this_." As the landscape blurred around them, Harry swooped down, capturing Draco's mouth in a tender, passionate, toe-curling kiss.

**...**

In a small, out of the way pureblood pub, in a small, out of the way section of Wizarding London, an attractive black-haired man sat at the bar, a three week old newspaper in his hands.

Draco grinned at the front page. They had certainly made a splash that day, reappearing on the Arthur Flinwinne Amphitheater stage in front of the majority of Harry's audience (not to mention the Weasel and his entire family) on top of each other, Draco bloodied from his fight with Finnegan, both of them soiled almost beyond recognition, kissing each other like a pair of horny teenagers...

Just below the giant photo of Harry's picture self snogging Draco's picture self senseless, and the several columns' worth of outrage over this 'scandal', was the reason why Draco was here, in this particular out of the way pub-Zabini had managed to escape custody before being sent to Azkaban. Draco would have caught up with the git much sooner-Zabini was too used to his lavish pureblood lifestyle to ever really disappear-except for a certain sexy distraction...

A striking redhead-a look obviously modeled after a certain Weasley, Draco was sure-caught Draco's eye from further down the bar. He winked lazily at Draco, a familiar goofy smile tugging at his mouth.

The black-haired man-Draco-grinned back, raising his glass in a indolent salute. There was movement in the back, and they both watched out of the corner of their eyes as Zabini quietly followed a young woman into the pub's back room...

Harry arched one red eyebrow at Draco. _Honors?_

Draco lifted his glass again, this time to his lips. Amazing, how well they could read each other now that they were an actual couple-especially when wearing strangers' faces. He pretended to take a drink, instead turning his head slightly into his wrist, almost nuzzling the flesh-colored mike stuck there, a wicked Malfoy smile of his own curling his mouth.

"Remember, darling, we're here to take the scum alive."

**Note: No, I haven't gone crazy (yet!) Both Harry and Draco are wearing Glamours in that last bit so Zabini won't recognize them =)**

**A/N: The End! *sad face* So, how was this last chapter? Good? Hopefully! =)**


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